Passing The Torch
by Brithund
Summary: The original cast return to Acme Acres for Christmas a year later. Acme Looniversity has a problem - and just maybe Babs' brother Mortimer and his class can solve it - with a little help.
1. Chapter 1

**Passing The Torch – A Not-So-Tiny Toons Christmas Special**

 **By Brithound**

 **A year had passed since Acme Acres and its surrounding franchise had narrowly escaped being invaded by monstrously cute and low-resolution Toons from an alien franchise. After the holidays, the friends and comrades had scattered in various directions, to film studios and blossoming careers.**

 **Much had happened that year. Outside Acme Acres' airport, Babs Bunny and Buster Bunny (related) looked around the town, showing it to their ludicrously fuzzy three-month old cub Blitz Bunny (definitely related) that Buster carried securely in a backpack cub carrier.**

 **"Seems like the old gang's all gathering," the blue buck noted, checking his T-pad with T-mails from his classmates converging at their old haunts for the Christmas season.**

 **His pink-furred wife grinned, and spin-changed to a Western outfit. "Sure is, pardner," she drawled. "Looks like you just can't keep us away!"**

* * *

 **Some had been ten months away…**

 **Far out in the Desert, East of Acme Acres, a flying saucer touched down. This would usually have drawn a crowd, but its well-chosen landing site was an ailing, half abandoned "World of Roswell" conspiracy-watchers' theme park, and the few UFO-seekers in the area dismissed it as a cheap publicity stunt.**

 **"If you looked hard enough, I bet you could see the wires," one of them sneered, putting his binoculars down and turning away.**

 **"Yes. Totally bogus. Someone copied it from one of those blurred flying disc photos taken in Central Europe in 1945, and painted modern go-faster stripes on it," his companion complained. "Just how gullible do they think we are?"**

 **Down in the desert, there was a reception committee waiting, a pair of Toons standing next to a Most_Terrain_Vehicle. A coyote was a common enough sight in the desert, but his companion infinitely less so – a tall, red-headed lady of extremely female human outline, but absolutely hole-in-the-film black colour, her face's only visible features being her eyes and a horizontal golden stripe of natural pigment just below them.**

 **"It has been almost an Earth-length year, yes indeed," Marcia Martian noted. "The longest reporting assignment Mary has ever had."**

 **Calamity Coyote's placard flashed to a large "Welcome Home!" banner as the portal of the saucer opened and four figures emerged. Strictly speaking, only three of them walked out – Mary Melody, the zebra Jaggi di Speckle and the donkey Jack Kwinus. In her arms Mary carried the latest edition to her family.**

 **"I'm back!" Mary looked around the bleak desert landscape. "After half a local year on Mars, even this desert looks almost welcoming."**

 **"Back home it would be counted a green and fertile place." Marcia nodded seriously. "And speaking of fertile – congratulations." She looked at the well-swathed bundle Mary was holding gently; little more than a pair of black-tipped ears could be seen protruding of her child.**

 **Mary gave an embarrassed grin. "This is our daughter Jenny. I was 'expecting' her when I left Earth, and didn't I just carry on 'expecting'! A full twelve months' gestation, that comes from the equine side of the family. Last month, you should have seen the size of me! I was glad of the lower gravity up there." She turned to Jaggi DiSpeckle. "Do we have everything? I think our ride's about to leave."**

 **"I was hoping to see my Uncle, not just talk on radio. I can always do that." Marcia's tone was disappointed, as she waved up at the mirror-like cockpit of the flying saucer. "I've not met him since…" she ran a silhouette-black hand down the taller and more curvaceous body she had developed in the past year and a half. "Since I matured as a Type Eight."**

 **"That's the problem," Mary frowned. "There's a reason he's keeping the inner airlock door shut. He's fanatically loyal to Queen Tyrannee, the only Type Eight, Queen class on Mars. Getting exposed to another Queen type's pheromones at this range… that would really cause him problems." She pulled out a reporter's notebook and rapidly drew a symbol consisting of two smaller hieroglyphs inside an oval like an Ancient Egyptian "cartouche".**

 **"You've learned Old Martian?" Marcia stepped back, amazed. "I have not seen that symbol written in so many years."**

 **Mary gave an embarrassed grin, and turned to Calamity Coyote. "It's not something that's happened for a very long time, and Queen Tyranee's very keen to keep it that way." She winced slightly. "Literally, the symbols read "two Queens together" – but it also means…"**

 **"Civil war." Marcia nodded glumly. "Even your bees and termites know that problem. They are more organised than you vertebrates. It is strange that they do not run your Civilisation." Despite all outward appearances Marcia was not technically a vertebrate, let alone a mammal, and even the tumbleweeds blowing past in the desert were a closer genetic match than her to the Earth Toons.**

 **Mary shrugged. "I prefer our system. We only have to go through a life change – in our case, puberty, just once. And we always know more or less how it's going to turn out. Your Martian life cycle is so complicated, I just don't know what to call it. It's not like a ladder, it's more like a bush… it all starts at the same root, and it can branch one of fourteen ways. It makes a society so…"**

 _ **Byzantine?**_ **Calamity's sign suggested.**

 **Jaggi snorted. "That doesn't begin to describe it. They went past Byzantine before the first plants colonised dry land here. And kept right on going." Mars was an ancient culture, and in some respects a fossilised one. Their language had retained the word for "surf-board" for geological aeons after anyone had enough open water to give a wave big enough to ride on one.**

 **They waved as the saucer retracted its ramp and rose silently, climbing up to the top of the atmosphere on Impulsive Drive before switching on its interstellar Optical Drive and flicking across the void between the worlds, returning to Mars in a matter of hours. Martian scientists were always amazed that Earthlings wasted vital Optical Drive technology on trivialities such as CD players.**

 **Meanwhile, the five adult Toons loaded up the Most_Terrain_Vehicle with the supplies brought by the saucer, mostly destined for Marcia. As she had frequently complained at ACME Looniversity, it was hard getting cosmetics to match her bee-purple complexion.**

 _ **Did the filming project go well?**_ **Calamity's placard asked, as they headed West towards the mountain passes that led towards Acme Acres, where many old friends were gathering for the holidays.**

 **"Oh, yes," Mary said. She smiled. "The first ever in-depth interview by an Earth news company with the Martian court. I think we all got a lot out of it. Queen Tiranee did, I know."**

 **By Marcia's body posture, her face was probably frowning. "When Uncle Marvin arranged this visit he said our Queen recently had been… somehow rendered, silly, I think he said." She blinked. "He had to use the Earth word; we do not have any equivalent. 'Silly' is not a characteristic of Martians. Not in all our history."**

 **Mary looked up innocently, then cast an eye over the two equines. "We got on with Queen T really well. Friends… lend things to their friends. And in the last few months I was, well…" her hand traced a curve in the air in front of her waist as if to trace the shape of a good-sized pumpkin. "There was a lot I couldn't do. And technically speaking, I didn't marry Jack and Jaggi till last month, so… as Queen T was sort of 'earth biology curious', you could say I lent them to her for awhile."**

 **"She ended up with her curiosity satisfied?" Marcia blinked.**

 **"Oh, I think so. Very well satisfied." Mary deadpanned. Suddenly she frowned. "It's a bit unfair on her – although Type Eights are somehow pretty much the same as a human girl – there's no equivalent Martian males to match. Queen T was sorry to see us go."**

 **Calamity nodded.** _ **A year ago, I remember you tried every path to legally marry both Jack and Jaggi at the same time. Even Rhubella's lawyer told you there was no way on earth you could do that. That is when you phoned Marcia for plan B, and arranged the Mars trip**_ **.**

 **"That's Mary! Nothing stops her for long." Jaggi hugged his humanmare wife lovingly. "On Mars they couldn't see a problem with a wedding for three. A lot of Martian unions are far more complicated."**

 **"They don't know our customs. Marcia and her Uncle are the only Martians who have ever set foot here," Mary said "Most Martians are still publicly speculating whether Earth is even habitable."**

 _ **But surely they have telescopes and can see the blue oceans of our planet. And their receivers can pick up Earth radio signals**_ **! Calamity signed in a puzzled font.**

 **"Umm… Queen Tiranee's sort of sitting tight on that information." Jack's long black-tipped ears went down. "The average Martian in the street… I mean Martian-in-the-abandoned-dry-canal, believes her when she says it's freezing cold blue liquid ozone, not water here. Very uninviting. And the only TV shows from Earth that get boosted and re-broadcast… so ordinary Martians can pick them up are…" he broke off, embarrassed.**

 **"Endless repeats of 'The Jerry Springer Show', 'Pro-Celebrity Jackass' and 'America's Funniest Road Accidents'," Jaggi filled in. "No wonder Marcia's '5-year mission to seek out Intelligent Life on Earth' keeps getting indefinitely extended."**

 **"And Queen T really doesn't want the competition," Mary said. "Any Type Seven Martian coming down here could progress to a Queen, on Earth with this much water around."**

 _ **Thinking of which…**_ **Calamity's sign read** _ **We've been asked by Colonel Fenix to ask you, about a Martian who is expected here.**_ **Calamity's sign read** _ **. He has Toons who can read the future. There's a Martian expected soon who has the key to enormous wealth and Plot changes. She's identified as the Queen of Phobos. Have you heard anything about her?**_

 **"Phobos. A strange choice." Marcia expanded. "No air, almost no gravity. The only thing on there is an old Green Age communications relay many millions of years old. That moon is a worthless piece of rock, mined out in the early Green Age. But in theory it is a province of Mars, and any Province, on paper, can have its own Queen."**

 **Mary looked around the vehicle, and took a deep breath. "Well, I can tell you all about her. We all took Martian Citizenship; it was the only way to get married. Queen T gifted us the deeds to Phobos as a wedding present. So – that would be me."**

* * *

 **Back in a revered institution that Mary and her friends had known well, there was a less friendly and far less welcome meeting in progress. Principal (and Professor) Bugs Bunny was looking across at his desk at the expensively suited executive, a big (in waistline terms) Bad Wolf sent from Studio Management.**

 **"We are very concerned at some of your choices for your Looniversity class," that executive, a certain Mr Hiram K. Hackensaw said. "Especially the current second year."**

 **Professor Bugs raised an eyebrow. "Dey's a good bunch o' kids. Gonna be major stars for Warner Brothers one o' these days, you betcha."**

 **Mr. Hackensaw tapped a few keys on his laptop. "I have the cast list here," he said darkly. "Only your current first years have enough approved, classic tropes – you've a comedy chase duo, at least."**

 **"Isiah Hare? Issua Foxx?" Bugs asked innocently.**

 **"No, I'm a Red Wolf. But… oh, I see what you mean. That duo, fair enough. But your second year class… we're worried by their performance." Mr. Hackensaw said. "The two Antagonists, for example."**

 **"Dey all have pretty good scores," Bugs protested.**

 **"Yes, because it's you marking them. That's what we're worried about. Bubba, the brutal bull, he's not such a problem. It's the other one. Henry Smith."**

 **"What's up with him, doc?" Bugs asked curiously. "What's he done?"**

 **Mr. Hackensaw frowned. "It's what he hasn't done! Our focus groups picked his demographic as main Class Villain. Has he achieved any blockbuster-grade villainies yet?"**

 **"Nope. Don't think he's the type," Bugs deadpanned.**

 **Mr. Hackensaw glowered at him. "Not the type? You just have to listen to him. Of course he's a villain, he's English!"**

 **"Eeeeh… I thought youse sent us dat directive about not doing ethnic jokes these days?" Bugs asked critically, one ear half dipped. "Remember all dat trouble with Lightning Rodriguez coupla years back, Speedy Gonzales' protégé? Youse didn't let da poor kid open his mouth once on film."**

 **"Yes, yes. But this is different and you know it. Things used to be simpler. When you heard a German or Russian accent, you knew they were likely villains. Saved a fortune in scriptwriting a plot. Then there was the big 'South African Villain' phase. We can't do that anymore, either." Mr. Hackensaw glared. "Henry Smith. Does he insist on taking a break for an hour for tea and scones, at the least convenient times?"**

 **"Nope," Bugs shook his head. "He eats in da dining hall with the rest of the gang, lunchtimes. Mystery meat, and three mystery veg on the menu most days."**

 **"Well, that's no good. And that name. It's not sufficiently English either. Why isn't he called something like Montague Benley-Carsholton?"**

 **"Have to ask his mudda dat one," Bugs grinned. "Say, if he's a villain, and you've never seen the guy do anything wrong… don't that make him a Master of Crime? Super-villain who nobody expects?"**

 **"As contrasted with Bubba, the obvious one. One's like a bull in a china shop, the other… the subtle kind, good for a smart Hero to show his skills by unmasking. That could possibly work." Mr. Hackensaw nodded thoughtfully. "But – and it's a big but! This whole 'comedy' thing is so overrated. Our Focus Groups are not at all happy with the kind of cartoon stars you're turning out. Fix it, or Acme Loo is history." With that he stood and swept out.**

 **Bugs stood, looking at the open door for a minute. "Chee, dat guy can sure pick his time. Ain't dat some swell Christmas Present for us."**

 **The door was still open, and a few seconds later there came a discreet knock at it. A long-eared head poked round the door.**

 **"Mortimer Bunny. Come in, why doncha. It's the last day of term, and all dat jazz." Bugs studied the shocked expression on the younger buck's face. "Ya heard all dat?"**

 **"Umm... yes, Sir. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, Sir," Mortimer said, and blushed. "But... we were walking past and, rabbit ears, you know?"**

 _ **And I could read his mind**_ **, came a usually cheerful telepathic tone as a giant gastropod girl slithered into view.** _ **Sir… would it help if I stung him with one of my custom toxins? And then engulf and devour him? Just a little bit?**_ **A long, stinger-tipped tentacle swished enthusiastically.**

 **Their mentor grinned. "Top marks for good intentions, kiddoes." The fact that Shelley was over a thousand years old had not influenced the 'bubbly teenager' memes she had picked up. "But – it really wouldn't help none."**

 **"Who are those guys anyway?" Mortimer asked, his ears right down.**

" **Dey's a sorta clique, been around awhile. Every now and then they gets in high places in the studio, then a Toon's gotta watch out. 'Sons of Schlesinger', dat's what dey call themselves," Professor Bugs mused. "After our first producer, back in the thirties. Not for any blood relation, but for his style."**

 **"They don't seem to like wacky Toons, much" Mortimer said, a puzzled note in his voice.**

 **Professor Bugs paused, casting his mind back. "Neither did ol' Leo Schlesinger, back in the day. Sure, he was a real sharp businessman in tough times – kept me in carrots and kept da boys' pay cheques comin' in… can't complain about dat. And t'ain't for me to speak ill o' the dead, but…" he rummaged on his bookshelf and handed to Mortimer an authorised history of Warner Brothers. "Chapter two, last paragraph."**

 **Mortimer flicked through the book and found the reference. "** _ **Though he put his name on all the most madcap Warner Brothers' films, Mr. Schlesinger was not at all noted for his sense of humour. Quite the opposite**_ **", he quoted.** _ **"When about to be shown the animator's latest efforts, he'd just say 'roll the garbage'. And not in a humorous way."**_

 **Professor Bugs winked, and pulled out a luxury rare breed carrot which he idly munched. "You said it, kiddo, not me."**

 **Mortimer blinked. "They're management who got into films through being accountants or something? Not because they want to make good cartoons? They might as well be selling soap flakes for all they care?"**

" **Dat's about the size of it," his mentor nodded. "And they keep the roof on dis place and da lights burnin', so there's nuthin' too obvious we can do about them. I havta say 'Yes Sir!" a few times a year, comes with the territory." He paused. "But you kids don't. Now, how about you and your pals puttin' together a little holiday project?" He beckoned Mortimer over, and whispered in his ear for a minute.**

 **Mortimer Bunny stepped back, having taken on board some interesting notions from his mentor and Uncle-in-law. "Yes, Sir! As holiday projects go – I'm happy to work on that one! I'll see who I can get from the class to help."**

 _ **We'll do everything we can. I'll get the whole class on the job. If I have sting them unconscious to do it!**_ **Shelley's car-sized bulk bobbed up and down enthusiastically, her thick blue plastic skirt (modified from a small hovercraft skirt and Velcro'd onto her shell) flapping wetly.**

 **"Dat's the spirit. See ya in the New Year!" Professor Bugs grinned. As Mortimer left, the grey hare unlocked a desk drawer and pulled out his neo-retro, un-hackable database of well qualified Looniversity graduates who might also turn out to be very useful. Flicking through the Rolodex ™, he stopped at two particular cards – and reached for the telephone.**

 **Outside the Looniversity after the final class of term, Mortimer spotted one of his classmates while waiting for the bus home. "Cassie!" He waved to the bloodhound. "Just the girl I need to talk to."**

 **Cassandra Bloode walked over, her robes jingling with patented good luck charms. Most of them had a scorched, burned-out appearance. She looked at where Mortimer was standing. "I wouldn't stand there if I was you," she said, her voice mournful as ever. "It could be very bad luck."**

 **Mortimer blinked. "Why not?" There were roadworks on the street, and he was standing at a sign proclaiming '** _ **Temporary Bus Stop**_ **.' "My bus stops here, these days."**

 **"Ah. But it might turn out, much too late, to be only a Temporary Bus." The bloodhound's long muzzle nodded significantly. "Before it reaches its destination it might just… fade away forever, with you on it."**

 **Mortimer sighed. The first day in class, Cassandra had solemnly announced that taking tests was futile, as the Andromeda Galaxy was inexorably approaching and would smash into their own, throwing planets out of orbit into black holes and adversely affecting property prices. And what would be the value of a Memes and Tropes module then? Having Professor Wile-E Coyote patiently explain that would not happen for another four American Billion years, and the tests were due at the end of term, had cut no ice with the Prophetess. "If you want gloom and doom, we've got some for real. Professor Bugs just told me." In a few minutes, he filled in the details.**

 **Cassandra brightened up considerably. "Woe!" She cried out, spreading her arms out and looking up appealingly to the heavens. "Woe!"**

 **"Wo ist vas? *" Arnold the Germanic Pit-bull grumbled, walking past as he made a rare cameo appearance.**

 **(Editor's note: "Where is what?" Trans. From really Low German, or possibly subterranean Swabian.)**

 **"Cassie. Can you predict some of that woe stuff for these Schlesinger's stooges? And maybe a few clues about how to drop it on them, anvil style?"**

 **"It's what I do best," Cassandra smiled. She suddenly stiffened, her body trembling – and as an unearthly blue special-effects light poured out of her eyes, she spoke in a deep, sepulchral voice; "** _ **And they shall deny the ones who hold them down! And they will rise forever and ever!"**_

 **Cassandra slowly re-emerged from her trance. "How was that?" she asked hopefully.**

 **Mortimer blinked. "That wasn't quite what I was hoping for," he admitted. "They're just going to get higher and higher? More powerful? Sounds like we really are doomed."**

 **Cassandra shrugged. "I can scent doom for** _ **them,**_ **all right. But I can't quite see how it's going to work." She paused, and slipped back into prophecy.** _ **"Woe unto them who deny that which press them down unknowing! For its hand shall be withdrawn, and they shall be as shining stars over the land!"**_ **She blinked, looking round. "Was that any better?"**

 **"Frankly… no." Mortimer spotted two more of his classmates. "Nootka! Henry!" A pale-skinned human Toon in a blue down jacket and ski salopettes was walking out of the Looniversity alongside an Arctic vixen wearing a traditional fur-trimmed anorak and hide mukluks. He knew why they were late; they were in Miss Prissy's Escapology class that was part of the Action Hero degree – and the old hen perversely gave low marks for anyone getting untied too soon after being radically trussed-up by her.**

 **"Mortimer! I hear you have a class project you want a paw with," Henry nodded to the rabbit. "We can lend a paw, and a hand too."**

 **Mortimer was staring at the Arctic vixen next to him. "Nootka? You're wearing your native costume – on campus? Didn't the studio say you couldn't do that?"**

 **Nootka laughed, and from her sealskin bag pulled out a dog-eared (and slightly foxed) film script. "We've just had a run-in with one of those Sons of Schlesinger about that. Used Henry's idea to get around it. I'm not allowed to wear this as a standard outfit, but – what if I'm in dress rehearsals for an authentic, historical film of the Frozen North, and here's the script to prove it?"**

 **"Well, my sis Babs says Marcia Martian played a lot of Martian parts when they were making their class films," Mortimer considered the matter. "So, an Eskimo playing an Eskimo…"**

 **"They complained that was stereotyping, sure. Then I complained right back at them not being allowed to play any part I want was Arcticist discrimination. That shut them up," Nootka smiled, her eyes narrowing at the memory.**

 **"Arctic-ist?" Henry mused. "I've not heard that word before. But it sounds better than 'high-latitudist.'"**

 **"I just made it up. But the studio suit didn't know that," Nootka's sharp teeth were exposed in a vulpine grin. "He started twitching, fell over and started to smoulder. Pete Puma turned a fire hose on him, for 'health and safety reasons.' I thought that might happen."**

 **"Where I have dire prophecy, she has something like it as her shtick," Cassandra nodded. "The Inuit version of intuition – Inuition."**

" **Comes in very handy back home, for knowing which way a bipolar bear's going to go," Nootka opined. "Always hard to judge, those guys."**

 **Just then, another two familiar faces appeared, heading out from class. The black-clad gothic mouse Lucretia and Marie-Sioux Zann, a human girl in a knee-length skirt and impeccably pressed shirt. Despite not having significant fur, she seemed not to feel the cold at all.**

" **Just our luck," Nootka's ears went right down. "The one person in class Professor Bugs and the rest of the staff didn't pick; the Studios wished her on us. Better not tell her why we're doing this project. She'll rat on us sure as I know a hundred words for snow – 'for our own good', of course."**

 **Mortimer forced a smile as they approached. "Marie-Sioux! Are you the last one out?"**

" **Yes, she is." Lucretia snickered. "Got maximum marks from Miss Prissy that way. Teacher's pet."**

" **Oh. Well." Marie looked down, modestly. A trick of the light and snowdust seemed to form a halo around her head. "I always hate to disappoint her. She so dearly loves these practical lessons."**

" **Next term, with any luck it's Escapology 301… get out of the concrete block before it sets and gets dropped into the Minando Deeps," Lucretia smiled nastily. "I hope you don't escape too soon and disappoint Miss Prissy then."**

" **Do be nice," Marie corrected gently. She tossed back her long tresses of naturally golden hair (colour tone # 3000 on the animator's chart, and requiring special, expensive inks).**

" **Why? I'm not nice. But I'm not a studio fink, either." A black-clad mouse tail swished, as Lucretia glowered up at the simpering girl. "Or a Mary-Sue."**

" **Don't call me that! It's Marie-Sioux." For a second there was a brief flash of emotion in those improbable deep violet eyes, and the halo illusion flickered. "But I forgive you."**

 **Mortimer cleared his throat. "We can use all the help we can get. Professor Bugs gave me a holiday project. It'll count towards our marks."**

 **"What exactly are we doing?" Henry asked. "Something that'll really show folk what we can do with comedy?"**

 **"I'll help," Marie said humbly. "I can play any role."**

 **Mortimer's ears went down. Then he noticed the script Nootka was looking through, and a special-effect LED lightbulb flashed above his head for a second as inspiration hit. He took a deep breath, then intoned a film meme of power, one they had been warned against using in class due to the snowballing cascade of other memes and tropes it would trigger. But desperate times called for desperate measures.**

 **"** _ **Hey, kids**_ **!" He called out.** _ **"Let's put on a show! Right here in the barn!"**_

* * *

 **Some had been six months away…**

' _ **It eats at your mind then rots through your brain**_

 _ **When you see the milk go chocolate-y, you'll go insane!'**_

 **Shirley McLoon shuddered as the advertising jingle for 'Killa Cereal,' the nation's best-selling breakfast food, resonated through the airport building. She had been half a year in this alternative time-line, having apparently taken the place of her local alter ego – a loon of incredible powers. A loon who had been hatched with her aura as one with herself, not an argumentative astral twin, and could always draw on her full powers. A loon who was by all accounts progressing rapidly and cheerfully in the service of the Dark Side of the Farce.**

 **She looked around the airport. This version of history was at the same time hideously different and hauntingly familiar – the two main cities on the California coast were Los Diablos and San Judas – but at the same time, the Weenie-Burger food (sort of) franchise was exactly the same, right down to the prices and the menu design.**

 **"That stupid, greedy green mallard…" she muttered to her aura – a dim, flickering spirit now all but exhausted after six months of keeping up shielding against all the dark-side powers that ruled here.**

 _ **Fer sure. I know what Plucky did. I could feel it, just as we got pulled out of our world.**_ **Her aura sighed** _ **. It was way bad news last time when he came back from that wilderness timeline with a backpack of gold. This time – he must have brought back a dumpster full!**_ **The appearance of so much acausal, plot-altering matter from an alternative timeline had generated a savage dimensional recoil that had booted Shirley, who had cast the original travel spell, far across the multiverse.**

 **"That's like, our bad karma. And this isn't a place where it's ever going to get better," Shirley sighed. She paused. "Way strange, that Unit Four Plus Two are almost exactly the same in this world."**

 _ **Nearly,**_ **her aura agreed.** _ **It's like that lame Duck Trek episode Plucky used to boast about starring in; they ended up on a dark side history, where Mister Spork was just that bit different**_ **.**

 **"Mondo confirmato," Shirley agreed. In this world the local version of Colonel Fenix also wore a small goatee beard. Evidently across the Multiverse some tropes were Universal ® (except for those that were MGM ®, Paramount ®, or Time-Warner ®).**

 **The loudspeaker above her crackled into life.** _ **'Attention all passengers! This is your friendly airport security reminder. Any suspicious-looking objects or persons will be taken away without warning and damaged or destroyed by the security forces. Also, any attractive Toons may be required to Unconceal and undergo full examination by our staff because… what the hey, we just love doing that!**_ **'**

 **"Well, that bit's no different," Shirley reflected. Just then she felt a strange spiritual tugging that she recognised. Someone or something was trying to pull her back across dimensions. "Centre with me! Hold tight!" She gasped, feeling her aura diving into her body like a super-hero into a telephone booth.**

 _ **Maybe it's, you know, those way special Cosmic Guardians who enforce the astral and astaaral laws?**_ **Her aura gulped** _ **We're like, ultimately responsible for what Plucky did. He couldn't have done it without us. All that gold travelling through alternative timelines is totally not meant to happen**_ **!**

 **Shirley hugged her aura tightly. "If they've come to get us, at last," she said. "Well. Maybe that's just kismet. Maybe it's for the best. Because I just don't want to be here anymore."**

 **She closed her eyes. The Agents who enforced the greater rules of Time and Space were not known for their forgiving nature. "Apart from the last six months – it's been a way cool incarnation."**

 _ **It has**_ **, her aura agreed.**

 **The sensation of being pulled into a gravitational whirlpool grew, until suddenly there was a crash of displaced energy – and she knew she was elsewhere.**

 **For a second she kept her eyes shut. Then the noise came, pounding through her body. She had been prepared to appear before some stern courtroom judgement on a high, austere astral plane. But she had never expected it to sound like a Death Jazz rock concert.**

 **Shirley opened her eyes, and her feathers drooped. "Mondo disastro," she gasped. "They didn't even bother judging us. They sent us straight to Hell!"**

 **She was standing at the front of a massive stage, on which a completely dark-side band were belting out tracks of such sheer power and terror that Toons all around were screaming, vomiting and attacking each other in psychotic frenzy. The loudspeakers were the size of tenements, and the concrete-splintering sound waves were visible in the air like the shockwave from a bomb blast. One of the band was blatantly Undead.**

 **Suddenly a telepathic voice cut through the sensory overload. It was Colonel Fenix – but not the version with the neatly trimmed goatee beard.**

 _ **Well done, people. I think we've got the right one, this time**_ **, Shirley heard the familiar psychic tones.**

 _ **Thank you, Sir! Do we have to turn off the Spirit Tap spell so soon? We're culling SO much power out of the crowd**_ **! With a sense of spiritual dread she recognised the raven Calgari, who had been almost identical on the alternative plotline.**

 _ **Yes, you do. Right now. I've bent enough rules for a year, just to let you try it,**_ **Colonel Fenix broadcast firmly.**

 **Shirley felt a reassuring touch of a feather-hand on her arm. She turned to see a face she had missed – Drogo de Vere, the neo-hippie song writer for their allied group Deaf Mettle Foundry.**

 **"Shirley? Is it you? The real one?" Drogo asked hesitantly, the male loon (wearing bell-bottomed, tie-died Kevlar loon trousers) looked searchingly into her eyes.**

 **Shirley looked back – and for an instant dropped her shields all the way, for the first time in six months** _ **. Take a look. Is it me you're looking for**_ **? She asked, dipping her bill shyly.**

 **For a few seconds she had the strange sensation of Drogo respectfully checking through her mind and memories. Deep within, she realised she had missed that touch. The Dark-Side version of Drogo had been very different, a roadie for a group of well-preserved zombie rockers, the Ungrateful Undead.**

 _ **It's her, all right! We've got her back!**_ **Drogo's joyous telepathic shout went out; no voice could have travelled a yard in the maelstrom of sound the rock group was pumping out.** _ **Now let's get her out of here!**_

 **Ten minutes later, Shirley was in the back of a top secret Assault Bus, heading away from what she recognised as Acme Metropolis' Mega Rock-O-Drome. She was wedged in the back seat with three Toons she was not so happy to meet again in any version – the raven Theophobe Calgari, the patently indescribable chupocabra Tlalocopa and the magpie Angelina Angelique.**

 **She looked at the three expectant faces, uncomfortably. "Like, I guess it's a real downer having me back. After Drogo and Colonel Fenix rescued me, or some junk?"**

 **Angelina's grin increased to Anime proportions. "Is that what you think happened?"**

 **"Fer sure. If that totally evil dark-side loon with my name was still here, wouldn't she just totally fit with your grody schemes?" Shirley snapped.**

 **Calgari smiled beatifically. "Why don't you ask the good Colonel here just who brought you home?" he suggested, mirroring it with a narrow-cast thought to Colonel Fenix.**

 _ **Like, Sir, or some junk**_ **? Shirley asked, aghast.**

 **There came a mental sigh.** _ **Yes, they persuaded me to bend more rules than I liked. Having a comeback tour by Evil Gazebo in town provided sufficient energy, in the form they needed**_ **.**

 **Shirley sat back in the seat, shocked beyond words. A minute later she looked around the smiling faces of the three Addams Academy graduates. "But, why? Why did you want me, not her?"**

 **"She plenty fun for a while, si," Tlalocopa shrugged. "And plenty hot on the nest! But we get Toons like that easy, any time from our old school."**

 **"You're more fun, Shirley – in a different way," Calgari said seriously. "Yes, she was more powerful than you'll ever be, until you embrace the Dark Side – but after a while we all missed you."**

 **"Mostly because Calgari's way behind with collecting soul credits for his Master," Angelina chuckled. "And he couldn't get any from converting a Toon who's already joined us. With you, he still might someday."**

 **"Heh, heh." Calgari elbowed Angelina sharply in the wishbone. "As if I would! Anyway – we're glad to have you back. And she was glad to go home – she's missed her boyfriend."**

 **"Ooh. Tell us all the icky details. You and Sanguinon. Yes!" Angelina bent forwards, her eyes sparkling.**

 **Shirley blinked. "Who?"**

 **"You know, Sanguinon, her way cool, two-hundred-year-old vampire swan boyfriend. The one I bet you've been having mondo fun with every night for the past six months. Like anyone would." Angelina looked critically at Shirley's neck-feathers. "I can't see the bite-marks. Do you use an Enhanced Heal (+4) spell every morning?"**

 _ **That was her boyfriend?**_ **Shirley's aura recoiled in disgust.** _ **Oh, fer sure. First day I was over there, we got a vampire. Stake through the heart on sight. Burned the bones, dissolved the ashes in acid and dumped what's left in two different rivers.**_

 **"One flowing to the Atlantic, and one to the Pacific," Shirley recalled. "Like anyone would."**

 **The three Addams Academy Toons looked at each other. "Uh-ohh…" they chorused.**

 _ **We totally hate Undead,**_ **her aura confirmed with an astral shiver.** _ **They have absolute like, zero right to hang out on this plane of being**_ **.**

 _ **The dark-side Shirley did mention such a friend,**_ **Colonel Fenix narrow-casted to Shirley and her aura.** _ **Did my… equivalent object to you eliminating him so very thoroughly?**_

 **Shirley frowned. "Like, he fined me a week's pay for trashing a 'valuable team asset.' I didn't know what he meant – but that whole world was so totally weird, it didn't surprise me."**

 **"Better hope you never meet your better self! I bet she'd have her own ideas now of what to do to you with a stake." Angelina grinned. "Vampires, you can generally get them back – it's usually in their film contract - but you made that one mega-tricky."**

 **Shirley cast a narrow-band thought to Colonel Fenix.** _ **My opposite number. What was she… like?**_

 **There was a long pause while the phoenix considered his reply.** _ **She was certainly very effective. I was considering promoting her, in fact. We've had some very troubling jobs handed to us, since the last election. But she handled them all, no questions asked.**_

 _ **Elections? Can't be any worse than that insane timeline where I was,**_ **Shirley shuddered, recalling** _ **. Can you believe it? They elected Mister Hitcher as President!**_

 _ **Ah. I suggest you take a look at Channel Five.**_ **There was a sadness to the phoenix's mental tone.**

 **Shirley looked up at the wide-screen TV in the back of the Assault Bus where the three Addams Academy Toons were already watching it avidly. The on-screen caption read 'Presidential Axe-cam LIVE!' In the other corner of the screen was a daily total, in a blood-dripping red font.**

 **A loon sat back, horrified. "He's President here too? But… last year Calamity fixed it so they didn't have to elect an axe-murderer!"**

 **Colonel Fenix's bill twisted in a grimace. "They didn't have to, no. But the voters thought, if he's up-front about something like that… that has to be one truly honest man. A rare sight in WashingToon. They went for the idea."**

 **"It's ideas, not just personality that really got him in, though," Angelina said. "He's already made good his promise to take an axe to a lot of the bureaucracy." She paused, contemplating. "Or was it to a lot of the bureaucrats? Oh well, probably both - a popular move either way. Nobody loves a bean-counter."**

 **"When he makes cuts, he do it up close and personal!" Tlalocopa enthused.**

 **Shirley's already pale feathers turned paler. "And Toons… voted for him, knowing that?"**

 **"Hey, remember the '90's?" Angelina asked brightly. "Who'd have thought President Dan Quayle would have two landslide victories? And he'd just announced worldwide on live TV he was running for a third term, when that embarrassed aide whispered in his ear that he wasn't allowed to."**

 **"Never underestimate the intelligence of the average voter," Calgari said seriously. "And personally I've never thought you could Under-estimate that."**

 **"But… I've never heard the guy put more than four words together!" Shirley gasped.**

 **"That's what the Media love. No long boring speeches nobody listens to anyway. He's like, a way modern President. For the sound-bite generation!" Angelina looked up at the screen admiringly.**

 **"Thinking of bites – it's time to eat!" Calgari said brightly. "Lovely stuff. These ethnic minority entrees just keep getting better. There's a whole new range of traction meats." The MRE ration range had expanded to such a rate that not only was there an officially approved ration to eat at Passover, but another one to eat on flyovers.**

 _ **Traction meats?**_ **Shirley's aura asked, disgusted.** _ **You mean, like roadkilll run over by an old steam traction engine? Sounds just your style.**_

 **"No, but that's a nice idea. A line of tasty retro recipes. Must write off to the quartermaster's corps and suggest it for next time." From a webbing pouch Calgari pulled out a selection of olive-drab pouches, and contemplated them hungrily. "The first traction meat anyone heard of was pulled pork, of course. Now we've got hauled ham, grabbed gammon and dragged duck in the series."**

 **"The Japanese rations now have winched whale meat, too!" Angelina said, her eyes shining brightly. "Next time we're over there, gotta get some of that!"**

 **"Lassoed Loon, is nice menu idea too," Tlalocopa said hungrily.**

 **"And we should have kept some of that highly enriched, weapons-grade Synergistic Phall we ran across a few months back," Calgari reflected. "What a curry! Toons were running around with yards of roaring, blue-white blowtorch flames jetting out of them from… everywhere. Strong, or what?"**

 **Shirley sniffed. "Totally serves them right for eating that junk."**

 **Her aura grumbled slightly, recalling several incarnations in India where she had had no problems with a diet that would have burned most Toons to a cinder at fifty metres downwind.**

 **The raven smiled, and chuckled. "Eating? No, those were folk who only heard about it third-hand. I said it was strong stuff."**

 **"You should have seen what happened to Toons who actually ate it," Angelina reminisced. "That was fun."**

 **"Colonel Fenix dropped it all into a pocket Universe and set it adrift, just before it ate big hole in our reality and let in the lean and hungry Hounds of Tindaloo, from Outside. Pity. They cool." Tlalocopa shook her head sadly. The astral hounds were an ever-present danger to Indian restaurant kitchens, where the spices were prone to corrode dangerously weak spots in EinsToonian spacetime.**

 **"Or if you're tired of MREs – try one of these new psychoactive snacks, designed for this modern psycho-run world of ours. A Sanity Pop." Angelina proffered a brightly-coloured packet. Like the advert says - '** _ **they're crazy good!**_ **'"**

 _ **Total gross-ville,**_ **Shirley's aura shuddered, pulling away.**

 **To both Shirleys' great relief, just then the bus pulled up outside the army-surplus store that Unit Four Plus Two were apparently still using as their Acme Acres base. She cast Colonel Fenix a tight-beamed enquiry.** _ **Any new Toons on the team since I was away?**_

 _ **No, we didn't manage to get any new talents, despite everything. We applied for that Murphy, and he wanted to join us – but his paperwork got lost. Typical Murphy. It's Corporal Barnes looking after the shop, as usual**_ **. Colonel Fenix replied.**

 **"Score mondo points devotion-wise," Shirley nodded. The ever-keen border collie had been equally dedicated to his trade on the dark-side timeline, and had eagerly contributed to the dark-side weekly magazine '** _ **Bayonet use for fun and profit'**_ **as official Government-qualified tester. Here, she recalled him being given a book of three dozen camouflage fabric swatches and identifying each one correctly, even the rare Burkina Faso arctic pattern and the Swaziland Royal Guard (experimental) suburban pattern.**

 **The team filed out of the bus, and Shirley looked up at their headquarters with a strange sense of coming home.**

 _ **At least it's handy to eat out**_ **, her aura commented, looking at the 'Authentic Chinese' restaurant on one side and the 'Fraudulent Lebanese' takeaway on the other** _ **. I bet you could totally use a chickpea falafel right now.**_

" **So, it's the same bunch," Shirley said, waving to the vultures. "Is that swan Ida still training with Mother?"**

" **No, she's out East. Your mother helped her enrol in an Eldritch Skills foundation course at the Miskatoonic, when they went there in September," Colonel Fenix said. "Ida may join us officially someday, if she can learn to control her admittedly rather impressive psi powers."**

" **Not only haven't we any new team members," Calgari mused "I've been applying for other jobs myself."**

 _ **Mondo dilemma, if he ever wants us for a reference**_ **, Shirley's aura tight-beamed to her material form** _ **. If we tell the truth about him, we'll never be rid of him. But we can't lie, either.**_

" **It's a shame Rome turned you down again," Angelina sympathised. "I mean, he could have started as just part-time assistant Pope, doing evening and weekend cover. How helpful can you get? He even offered to take an internship, for no wages." Her bright beady eyes sparkled. "Hey! I could have helped. It'd be like '** _ **we've got the Pope-signal, Cardinal Angelique! To the Pope-cave!**_ **' Then fire up the Pope-mobile and burn some rubber as we hit the streets, out to smite those heretics."**

" **Keep applying, I sure they'll come round in time." Tlalocopa nodded confidently. "You have good idea, try and make burn heretics exempt from carbon tax. Shame they turn it down."**

" **Of course, things don't always turn out happily. World War Two, for instance," Calgari mused, recalling a previous incarnation. "But you know, you have to try. With some things it's more about the voyage, not the destination."**

" **Yes. And it's a pity Colonel Fenix turned down your neat-o idea for this year's disguise. There's Historical re-enactment groups all over the place, I mean. The public would never guess we were a secret part of their own Government in your old outfit's outfits. They looked way cooler than those grody Parks Department uniforms," Angelina sympathised. "Really, they looked a bit like the Salvation Army wears, just the insignia was a bit more runic."**

" **Those wouldn't have been a bad choice either; I'm sure my Master would love the irony of me in Salvation Army gear. Nostalgic for me too. Nice peaked caps, right colour scheme, the collars even have an 'S' rune. And the tubas could come in handy for interrogating suspects." Calgari said.**

 **Shirley snorted. "Like Colonel Fenix would let you!"**

 **Sergeant Gander gave a quiet cough; the first time the tall goose had spoken since Shirley had got on the Assault Bus. "We did have an urgent situation, that needed extreme measures. Last month, at the Supper Bowl there was the grand national hot-dog eating championships. Some rather… extreme vegan activists took offence."**

" **They synthesized a version of the old British Lethal Joke from World War Two!" Tlalocopa said, her eyes shining. "Were going to play it over the giant screens to the carnivore crowd, and on video feed."**

" **It wasn't the same as the original, fortunately," Sergeant Gander said. "Their version of the joke was unstable, a one-shot. Once that copy was used, it was gone."**

 _ **Like, we learned a lot of gags in class that were only funny once,**_ **Shirley's aura mused.**

" **We caught one of the activists," Calgari smiled. "The countdown was running, we had to… persuade him to tell us where in the computer the joke was stored, and fast, before it broadcast. Your better version persuaded him… in true Shirley McLoon style. And our dear leaders let her."**

 _ **Say it isn't so,**_ **Shirley's aura said, horrified.**

" **There's nothing in the rule book that says you can't lock someone in a room and play Indonesian Gamelan music at them," Sergeant Gander sighed. "It was very effective. In ten minutes he was begging to be allowed to confess."**

" **And your better version 'accidentally' left him in the room with it still playing while we went and saved a Supper-bowl full of Toons," Angelina said brightly. "Whoops! There's one activist who won't be doing anything more offensive than drool all over the padded cell, from now on."**

" **Way dark-side," Shirley shivered. "My evil twin's going to come back as a diseased rutabaga, fer sure."**

" **Ah. One incarnation, I was in a different franchise entirely," Calgari reminisced. "Full-on grimdark universe, the same place those forty thousand WarHamsters we once met came from. Skull-shaped daemon worlds with seas of blood, the whole thing. You'd have loved it. I was in a band of Chaos Warriors, played bass guitar." He smiled, shaking his head. "I wore spiky black Over-Powered armour decorated with nice heretical runes and Impurity seals. Happy days."**

" **So, what are we wearing this year?" Shirley prepared for the worst – or rather, the third-worst considering Calgari's preferred costumes. "We're like, maybe disguised as a convention of Shriners? Football mascots? Disney characters?"**

 **"Walking around disguised as funny animals. No, that'll never catch on," Calgari said "But, I quite like the uniforms we've chosen – it inspires quite delightful levels of fear and paranoia. And the really good thing is, we can stick parking tickets on any Toons' cars, just for the sake of it."**

 **Corporal Barnes came out of the shop, carrying a paper-wrapped parcel, which he handed to Shirley. "Ma'am? Your new outfit. Sign the docket, please."**

 _ **We're like, dressed as meter-maids**_ **? Shirley's aura blinked in horror.**

 **"Hey! You can feed your radical eco-conscience," Angelina grinned. "If every car on the street gets gratuitously wheel-clamped except the electric one…. People will notice."**

 **Shirley was about to recoil in disgust – when she paused** _ **. You know, that's not such a grody idea,**_ **she narrow-casted to her aura.**

 **The ever-eager collie received Shirley's signature on the receipt for the outfit, and turned to the raven. "Sir!" Corporal Barnes saluted crisply. "You have an official communique from the Swiss Army."**

 **Calgari nodded pleasantly. "I wrote in with some ideas for improving the Swiss Army knife," he explained to Shirley. "I came up with a handy gadget I've always felt a need for."**

 **"Sir!" The Collie's ears were right up. "They say, quote, they have no use for your invention. Not only do they not do that to people, they have signed international treaties against it, unquote, Sir."**

 **Calgari clicked his beak, shaking his head sadly. "Some people are so negative," he sighed.**

 **Shirley's feathers drooped.** _ **Now I know we're back on the right time-line**_ **, she thought.** _ **Welcome back to Hell.**_

* * *

 **Some had been three months away...**

 **If the rising Adventure film star Plucky Duck had disappointed the host of adoring fans outside the airport and let any of them go away disappointed without his autograph, he would have had plenty of time. Had he gone to the right Terminal, he would not have missed his flight.**

 **"That's what I get for only playing Classic mode in Retro Rocket Rumble," he muttered to himself, getting to Acme Acres two hours late. "I'm not used to Terminal Guidance systems – I fly first and second-generation birds, and they don't have them." He had phoned Margot from Oregon, and she had assured him he had a special welcome awaiting him, after so long away.**

 **Half an hour later, his 5-wheel drive * slightly-off-road vehicle pulled to a halt in the deep slush of the roadside by the Crowninshield Estate, some miles into Acme forest as the short Winter day darkened to evening. The snow-clad woods pressed close to the house from behind, and in a clearing to one side was a small but perfectly constructed igloo.**

 **(Editor's note: certain ego-maniacs attempt to gain bragging rights by including the power steering, trying to upstage mere 4-wheel drive owners. As in: "It's a powered wheel, isn't it?")**

 **"Hello, Daddy. We felt your presence from afar." Brandi and Candi popped out of the entrance tunnel, looking up with small, sombre faces. The ducklings were eight years old now, not the five that an Acme Acres calendar would have suggested – the duck family had taken another trip back to the time-warped alternate history Brandi and Candi had been hatched on.**

 **Plucky beamed. "Hey, kiddies! Well, Presence is what us top actors have. By the truckload!" He knelt in the snow and hugged his daughters. "That's a swell igloo you've got. Did you build it all by yourselves?"**

 **"Yes, Daddy." Brandi nodded. "We got the idea from a nice fox lady, showed us how. Miss Nootka. She fishes on the lake ice."**

 **"Ohh… I heard of her. Our genuine 100% Eskimo. In class with Babs' brother." Plucky looked around. "Isn't it cold in there? And how do you get your TV and NumbMindo console working?"**

 **"It's warm with two fish-oil lamps, Miss Nootka made them for us." Candi said. "We've got everything we want in there. No flashing stuff."**

 **"Nice furs and skins we got from home," Brandi added. She looked up beseechingly at Plucky. "When can we go back?"**

 **Plucky chuckled, tousling her head-feathers. "From what I hear, you'll be able to go there all by yourselves whenever you want, someday. Did your granny show you lots of the magic you're interested in, at the MiskaToonic?" Melissa McLoon had taken her grand-daughters that Autumn for a two-month educational trip to the stately University in the backwoods above BosToon where they taught many subjects that generally Toons Were Not Meant To Know ™.**

 **His daughters nodded seriously. "Grandma Melissa taught us big spells. We opened up gates to places. We went Outside. To Hali, Mnar and Carcosa." Candi said. "And we talked with some people who live there."**

 **"You should have sent a postcard," Plucky suggested. "Did you make lots of friends at the school?"**

 **Brandi nodded. "Yes, Daddy. We met a real aristocrat in our class, Damien de Cambion. Grandma knows his family."**

" **One side of it," Candi added. "He got lots of powers." The MiskaToonic crèche and junior school was a very diverse place, reflecting the exotic places its staff and students went, and the fascinating encounters many of them had there.**

 **"Grandma Melissa says we're Alpha grade psykers," Brandi said proudly. "Maybe Alpha Plus."**

 **Plucky shook his head, admiringly. "And I was so sure you'd want to be cheerleaders and beauty queens. But, hey, daughters of mine, of course you're pure star quality!"**

 **"We've summoned a Star Vampire," Brandi looked up at him. "He was nice."**

 **"Ah. Kids these days. When I was your age I was into Tamagotchi. Well, have fun! Remember there's always warm beds, pizza and cookies waiting in the house for you!" Plucky remembered who and what else was waiting for him in there.**

 **As he headed towards the house, he saw an unexpected sight – a more than usually confused-looking stork flapping away unladen into the distance, having evidently delivered a little 'bundle of joy' or the stork feather message that one would be on the way.**

 **"How about that! We must have new neighbours," he told himself. "Didn't think anyone else lived within a mile of here." He took the steps three at a time, as befitted a starring Action Hero. He had recently worked alongside many of the industry's almost-greats, from Harrison Fjord (Norway's leading swashbuckler) to Harrison Fnord (star of many of Plucky's favourite conspiracy thrillers.)**

 **He glimpsed a pair of purebred duck girls in neat black and white uniforms, and waved as Gladys and Gracie scurried out of sight, the maids looking a little guilty. He was sure he could see why.**

 _ **Looks like they've been piling on the pounds since I left,**_ **he chuckled to himself.** _ **Probably been eating all the cheesecake in the house!**_

 **"Margot! It's me! Yoo-hoo!" he called upstairs to the boudoir with the biggest bed in Acme Acres. "Three months of filming is in the can, and I'm in the money, honey!"**

 **"Plucky! You're back – at last!" Margot sat up in bed as her husband swept in in grand style. She wore a crimson silk negligee that set off her riot of purple head-feathers artfully. Those normally impeccably groomed feathers were looking a little rumpled.**

 **"Sure, sure. I was delayed at the airport. Have you been waiting up for me?" Plucky threw himself down at the corner of the ten-foot waterbed that bounced and surged alarmingly.**

 **"I've been waiting since the first time you called. Gladys and Gracie have been getting me ready." A small smile was on Margot's bill. "Then when you called again… well, with you coming home and all, it was the last time it'd be just me and them for a while. We made the most of the chance."**

 **Plucky grinned. "Hey! When I left I said, have fun with them! I just love that idea." Margot kneeling and humbly asking her husband's permission had been, for her, the most perverse thing she had ever done, and she had clearly loved it. "And to tell me all about it when I got back."**

 **Margot's expression became sober. "I'll have to do that, Plucky. Because I've got a little… surprise for you. Two, in fact."**

 **"I love surprises." Plucky sat next to his gorgeous wife, caressing her feathers.**

 **Margot took a deep breath. "Plucky? Remember I told you I once… refused a feather, back at Perfecto? It just faded away on the ground when I didn't take it. And everyone says if you do that, the storks never offer you another?"**

 **"Sure! Just after you'd dumped that big stiff, the swan guy. No loss there. And of all the ways a Toon can get kids, you've almost got the whole collection anyway - adopting Brandi and Candi, and getting little Dauntless the hard way."**

 **"Don't I just remember. I thought it'd be twins, but no, we got a nearly double-sized duckling." Margot said wryly. In the well-appointed nursery their green-feathered son Douglas "Dauntless" Duck was being raised alongside Gladys and Gracie's purple-feathered daughters Millie and Molly, who had definitely inherited Margot's mammal chromoplasm. It looked like egg-laying had definitely gone out of fashion in that family. "Last year I persuaded the storks to call on G and G, which they'd been trying for years with no luck. Though I've ruined their purebred avian pedigrees. Looks like I'm dominant right down to my model sheet." It would have been her DNA on a non-Toon, naturally.**

 **Plucky kissed her. "You getting them with a stork delivery, girl on girl. That was the hottest idea I ever heard, anywhere, any time." He paused. "So, what's the big surprise you got for me?"**

 **"It's funny you should mention me getting the complete set. Filling the nursery every possible way." Margot took a deep breath. Opening her feather-fist, she showed the stork feather that had arrived for her five minutes earlier. "It looks like the storks forgave me… and decided after I got those little bundles of joy for G and G, turnaround is fair play."** _ **Or they just forgot about the veto – that'd be a typical stork thing**_ **, she thought wryly.**

 **A green mallard's eyeballs bulged in a full Avery "wild take" that would have earned him high marks back at Acme Loo.**

 **Margot bowed. "Three months of 'maid service' whenever I wanted, and that one final time against the clock with you getting back late made it – dramatic enough to work. What do you… think, about that?"**

 **There was the distinctive 'pop' of a Toon Unconcealing. Margot looked up and laughed in relief and delight, her eyes going wide at the sight of his reaction – and the scale of it. She had not misjudged her mallard after all.**

* * *

 **An hour later Plucky was lying relaxed, lovingly stroking his wife's purple feathers. Suddenly a thought came to him. "You said you'd got two surprises? What's the other one?"**

 **"Well... I should have said three, really. Gladys and Gracie are carrying eggs. No storks involved this time, just biology – they were as surprised as I was when I got my feather."**

 **"Hey, they've already had daughters, Millie and Molly, so I don't see why…" Plucky broke off, and there came the special-effects whirring of mental cogwheels in motion. "They're carrying eggs? I thought they'd just been binging on cheesecake."**

 **Margot struck a cheesecake pose for her beefcake husband. Three years elapsed time in the wilderness had done wonders for the mallard's physique, she thought warmly as she looked up at him. Life out there the second trip had been far easier with a few well-chosen tools, as well as Brandi and Candi learning to hunt with chilling efficiency. Also, the knowledge that they could return any time to civilisation had made the experience more of an extended wilderness holiday and less of a bitterly grudged, unjust life sentence in exile. "They've been enjoying a lot of that, too. And now they've a cute little egg-bump apiece, ready to lay any week now. These might not be daughters. That's the really surprising bit."**

 **Plucky frowned, the gear whirring nose getting louder. "But how? With two girls you said it only works with the stork route, and they always bring a daughter. You said girls don't carry the chromoplasm for a boy. And G and G aren't into guys."**

 **"And visa-versa." Margot caressed her drake. "I said, they're surprised. But they're happy with the idea, however it happened." She paused. "Remember what you said when we all moved in here, and we gave G and G the bungalow?"**

 **"Sure! All one big, happy family," Plucky nodded. "Heh. Looks like it's going to get bigger, faster than I thought."**

 **"That's right." Margot's eyes gleamed. "We're one household, with one nursery – does it matter to you the… details? Of who contributes, and how?"**

 **Plucky scratched his head-feathers. "If it's all right with you, it's all right with me."**

 **"Mmm. I really married the right mallard." Margot hugged him. "Put it like this… if you gave me a box of chocolates for Christmas, would you be upset if I shared them with friends?"**

 **"Hey!" Plucky's feathers bristled slightly. "If I give you something, it's yours. Share away."**

 **"Oh, and I did. The first night you were away." She paused. "Before you'd even got to the airport. I confess, I just might have forgotten to tell those two dear maids a few of the… messy details. Or the messy consequences. But they're happy with the results, so all's well there."**

 **Plucky blinked. "But how did chocolates do that? I remember the night I left, you were amazing. But I don't remember any chocolate."**

 **Margot just laughed. Putting two and two together had never been her husband's strongest point, while she had top marks from Perfecto involving maths using Complex and Imaginary numbers (much used in calculating tax returns) "Welcome home, from all of us, Plucky."**

* * *

 **A few miles nearer Acme Acres, in a recycled burrow that had now been thoroughly searched and checked for any more classically unexpected (though unmistakably classic) missiles, Mary Melody was visiting her friends while Jaggi and Jack got her house back in shape after months away. Technically they were Jaggi and Jack Melody now; they had all agreed it would make life simpler if they took her family name.**

 **Babs looked down at Mary's daughter, lying comfortably on the clean fireside rug along with her and Buster's son. Once unwrapped from outdoor clothes, Babs had noticed Jenny had some very distinctive features. "Now, that's a new one on me. She's got two sets of ears – human and equine both?"**

 **"Quadrophonic speakers on a stereo are one thing," Buster nodded appreciatively. "Quadrophonic hearing, though – that's kinda special."**

 **"I think so." Mary stroked her daughter's black-tufted tail lovingly. "If she attends Acme Loo someday, I expect the staff will have a problem placing her role. She's not technically a furry despite her shape – her skin takes after mine, mostly. She's got my head hair, too. That's not very equine."**

 **"When we were filming on location in France back in Summer, Monsieur Baudet the director was a Poitou breed donkey toon," Babs mused. "He had sort of 'au naturel' dreadlocks, they looked good on him. Very like your style and Jenny's."**

 **Mary smiled, as Jenny rolled over onto her front. The foal had a stripe of dark grey fur running all the way down her back, and a cross-stripe across her shoulder blades. "Well, I knew anything was possible, with a mix. Remember what you said last year? About if I had half a dozen children with Jaggi, they could all turn out differently? Some like him, some like, me, and anything in between."**

 **"Oh, yeah." Babs grinned. "And double it now – two husbands, of different species. That's a lot of dice to throw, rolling up all the combinations."**

 **Mary blushed, the special-effects glow standing out an inch clear of her dark skin. "At eleven or twelve months a time and no storks to help, I'm not planning to work through the whole card deck like that." She paused. "Then – I didn't plan on Jenny. Not the way it happened."**

 **"Most accidents are caused by people, and visa versa," Babs quoted. "Same goes for Toons. Still – a happy accident, all round. This class of ours, we've really bucked the trend – me with the help of my blue buck here. Once that meme came to town, those storks were kept pretty busy." What with Toon longevity and near-invulnerability, for reasons of plot balance their birth rate was usually extremely low and contrasted markedly with the population surge in one particular Looniversity class.**

 **Mary looked down lovingly at the two babies (technically, a foal and a leveret) crawling on the soft rug. Suddenly she blinked. "Blitz – how did he get over there? I didn't see him move. He didn't move, he just – was there."**

 **Babs and Buster exchanged grins.**

 **"Remember last year, when we went out to camp in the Grand Unified Field, and proved it wasn't just a theory?" Babs asked, a dreamy look in her eyes. "Well. By the time we got back… little Blitz was on the way."**

 **"We'd been in six-dimensional space at the time," Buster added. "So we weren't amazed when Blitz was born with some interesting abilities."**

 **"If there wasn't a Blinky Bunny in town already, we might have called him that," Babs said. "He can – blink. One place to another. Born with QuanToon teleportation like a bird can fly, a natural skill. Not something he'll have to learn in class."**

 **"That'll be some shtick," Mary said, impressed. She paused, thinking. "It's a good thing you're honest types, and I'm sure you'll bring Blitz up that way. Because you could use that shtick for a lot of sneaky things."**

 **"Yes, we thought of that," Babs laughed. "It'd be a waste of money Toons buying an ACME bank vault, when there's someone in town who can just step past all the walls through the sixth dimension and walk out with the loot." She reflected. "Still. When he gets a bit bigger, I bet there won't be a cookie-jar in the state that'll be safe from him."**

 **While Buster went to the kitchen to check on the progress of their supper, Mary looked at Babs closely. "In the sixth dimension – what was that like?"**

 **Babs paused, and searched for words. "I got Blitz on the way without the storks – I'm not surprised they didn't find me there; it was a confusing place for anybody. All my spin-change forms were out at once – but it wasn't like there was a crowd of me. There was just little ol' me, but with all the cards in play. And all of Buster's forms, too." She reached for a deck of cards, and expertly split the pack. "Me, Blue-boy. Me, Blue-boy. Et cetera." She Interleaved a card from one paw with its opposite number, repeating till there was just one pile again. "Except there was only one of us, each, and all our forms, simultaneous."**

 **"Simultaneous?" Mary blinked, trying to imagine that. Calamity had in the first year 'Show and tell' session brought a Hypercube into class, kept stable in a hypersphere of higher order space. It had been an interesting experience, although Pete Puma had complained about having to clean all the spilled and blunted Sanity Points off the floor afterwards.**

 **"Yup. And after – I'd wondered what'd happen to my spin-change forms, with a cub on the way. Well, they all had one – but it was the same one, not a population explosion," Babs stroked her son's ears lovingly. "Just as well." She had worried about copying her Mother's family size in one go, with every spin-change form queuing up at the maternity ward one after the other.**

 **"All your spin-forms? Even Tinker-bunny?" Mary's eyes went wide, remembering the parodic fairy form. "I bet that did severe things to her power/weight ratio, as Calamity would say."**

 **Babs' ears went down. "Ooooohh… just don't go there. I neither confirm or deny." She paused. "The Grand Unified Field's a nice place. Way past wacky, though. You'd just have to be there to really believe it. I can point you the right direction, out through Wacky-land."**

 **Mary smiled, and shook her head. "I'd have to be a lot Toonier to want to go there! And… I never could spin-change. Some folk just can't." Five years of Looniversity could teach a lot, but not everything. She relaxed, even her limited human sense of smell picking up the aroma of carrot soup from the kitchen as Buster prepared to serve supper. "Who else is in town? I've been a bit out of touch."**

 **"Fifi and Rhubella are back," Babs said promptly. "They were filming all Summer in Japan; got back a month ago. They went to the Neo-Mega-Tokyo film festival to pick up the Golden Cream Lemon award, for the most gratuitous shower scene of the year. It's very prestigious."**

 **"Competing with a nation of Anime folk, that prize took some winning," Buster called in through the open door. "Second prize was a weather forecaster. She livened up her job illustrating the day's weather. Which was damp."**

 **"I can imagine someone demonstrating 'Frequent showers all day'. I've missed those. Martians just dust-bathe, like chickens." Mary sat back, closing her eyes. "First day I'm free, I'll head out with the herd to Acme Acres' almost-Olympic sized pool and we'll spend all morning in deep, warm water. It'll be a first for Jenny." A few years earlier, one of her stories for the Acme Gazette had made headline news when the pool had not quite measured up to specifications. The builders had cast the concrete to the exact size specified… but forgotten to allow for space taken up by the tiled lining. As a result, Mayor Warner (no relation) had glumly unveiled the only (Olympic - 1 inch) sized pool in the country. She suddenly blinked, and her hand went to her mouth in embarrassment. "Herd? Did I really say that?"**

 **Babs snickered. "That's OK, we're not recording." She paused. "I'd hoped Hamton would get back for Christmas this year – or Hanukkah, in his case. But his parents are going across the country to see him instead; he's working non-stop at Happy World Land. Head janitor already on the 'Happy-go-Pukey' ride."**

 **"That's real job security," Mary nodded. "Sounds like he's doing well."**

 **"He's really cleaning up," Babs winked. "They're opening a new ride next year, the 'Slide of Tragedy'. Hamton's already tipped to be in charge of that one when it opens. Folk reckon that'll be messy too. For non-Toons… they have to sign a disclaimer. And a donor card for any bits that… come loose."**

 **Buster spin-changed into a park employee, with Happy World T-shirt, Happy-Hat and matching Happy-broom and dustpan. He leaned contemplatively on the broom, chewing a straw. "Darnest thing. I tol' them fool kids to keep their dagnam' arms inside the cars," he drawled.**

 **"And Plucky and Margot are back from that time-warped world, I know. Well. Margot's been here since Summer, while Plucky was off filming." Mary's expression became contemplative. "When I was on Mars, she radioed me with a rather interesting business proposition. Seems she's not spending all her time looking after the ducklings."**

 **"Perfectos and money." Babs' ears dipped. "They just don't quit."**

 **Mary shrugged. "I've looked at her plan. It makes sense. And her lawyer's one Mr. Acme uses to keep him in business, he says there's nothing on earth to stop it legally. Literally. And we checked it's OK on Mars, too."**

 **"If Mr. Bobbo Acme's managed to peddle goods like his all these years without getting his tail sued off… that's some lawyer," Babs mused. "It was in the news last week, how the auto-correct feature on the latest ACME phone radically altered a Toon's vacation. He wanted a foreign package holiday with a close-up personal experience of Prague – and the phone he booked it through changed that to 'Plague.'"**

 **"At least he got what they thought he asked for. That's one accommodating travel company. And Calamity and Marcia are back from working on the Suppercollider in Akron Ow! Hi! Ow!" Buster said, walking in with a tray of steaming bowls, which he put out on the kitchen table. "Met them yesterday. Calamity was saying it's a dangerous job. His roommate… you know, the one who designed the first credenza to operate for more than a month on the surface of Venus? Well, there's no accounting for feline curiosity."**

 **"Not even when there's a big sign on the Suppercollider warning – '** _ **Danger - relativistic custard pies! Do not stick head in main beam!**_ **'" Babs shivered. "Eww. Messy or what?"**

 **"Curiosity used up some lives of the cat. At least they have a good health plan," Buster said. "He got a whole new head, a solid one-piece titanium forging! Calamity was well impressed."**

 **Babs snickered. "Here's something he wouldn't be so pleased to see. It was in last week's paper – I saved it for you." She rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a copy of the Acme Gazette which she handed to Mary. "Elmyra finally graduated last Summer; she and George are making a splash as pro bounty hunters. They've been doing well."**

 **Mary's eyes widened as she looked at the front-page picture, headlined '** _ **Caught – after a year on the run!**_ **' A spandex-clad, fiendishly grinning Elmyra was standing in the desert posed with George the dim bunny looming massively behind her. In her two fists she gripped tightly the necks of the notorious desperadoes Roxette and Roxanne Road-Runner (no relation.) "She actually catches road-runners! And gets paid for it too! Calamity's going to be green with envy when he sees this."**

 **"Unlike those jail-birds; they're turning purple in the face," Babs noted. "A good capture. Still – who'd have guessed we'd ever be cheering on Elmyra? Those birds were tough, and I don't just mean how Calamity wants them - in the stew pot." She paused. "You'd burn more calories chewing a Road-Runner steak than you'd ever get from eating it."**

 **"People forget Road-Runners are predators," Buster nodded, as they sat down to steaming carrot soup. "They eat rattlesnakes. Well, Beeper does. Not that they showed that in our class shows."**

 **"Well, we didn't make films for the Discovery Channel, after all," Mary mused.**

 **Babs spin-changed into safari jacket, bush shorts with shrub boots, and furrowed her brow as she channelled a serious nature channel host. "And here we are in South Asia, studying the business habits of the lumpish Koalas of Koala Lumpur," she intoned in a deep voice. "This species migrated North from Australia to run their mother's soup restaurant franchise, being naturally Ma-soup-ials."**

 **Mary groaned. Babs at least had not changed a bit. "And Shirley? Is she still with that Abnatural Forces unit? I've not checked in with them yet, but I will. First thing Monday."**

 **Buster paused, a spoon of soup half-way to his mouth. He put the spoon down carefully, and exchanged glances with Babs. "Shirley… she's not been herself, recently."**

 **"According to her mother, she's really not herself," Babs expanded. "She's made herself a bit unpopular… but for typical Shirley reasons."**

 **"Remember last year, Calamity and Marcia went to check out that Clinic for the Clinically and Comically Insane, hunting the Theory or Everything?" Buster asked. "Their Director really hates Shirley. He's lost all his star patients, thanks to her. He's lost his Julius Caesar, his Napoleon and three Hitlers. Had to let them go, after Shirley proved they weren't insane."**

 **Mary blinked. "How?"**

 **Buster gave an embarrassed grin. "Remember, their Napoleon 'somehow' started speaking authentic eighteenth-century French? And with a strong Corsican accent? Well, that patient started off as Fred Bloot from Walla Walla Washington, who didn't speak French at all. A complete nobody all round, by all accounts. Turns out it's something between permanent channelling and a screwed-up attempt at reincarnation. You've got a third-rate mind like his, matched against one of the biggest egos in History, who badly wants to come back. No contest."**

 **"And the same with the rest of them," Babs looked back at her buck, smiling. "Good thing mega-egos like that, they don't get on with each other. Hate to see that team-up. Still, seems like we live in Interesting Times ™!"**

" **Better than being bored," Buster mused.**

 **"I can see this plot's going to run and run," Mary spoke as if to herself. She sampled the soup, and her eyes widened. "This is good!"**

 **"When you dine in a rabbit household, expect the finest in carrot cuisine," Babs said, spin-changing into The Crimson Crockpot and pronouncing a culinary benediction with the legendary Ladle of Plenty. "What was the food like on Mars?"**

 **Mary shuddered, remembering. "Thin ersatz water to drink. And only two kinds of food substitute – smooth and chunky. Made with genuine chunks."**

 **"Chunks of what?" Buster asked, curious.**

 **"Just … chunks," Mary closed her eyes, enjoying the very different Earth style soup. "I asked Marcia what the ingredients were… she says Martian cuisine doesn't use any. It's like an elemental food – no components, it just is."**

 **"On the plus side, that means no unhealthy additives!" Babs said brightly.**

 **Mary smiled, relaxing. "It's good to hear everyone's doing well." She looked pensive for a second. "Wasn't there another human Toon in class? Called something like... Wyoming Wilf, or similar?"**

 **Buster nodded thoughtfully. "Vaguely remember. It wasn't Rhode Island "Red" – that's Foghorn Leghorn's niece, she's in the senior class right now." The kickboxing hen would tackle predators twice her size, and was a 'chicken' only by species. He shrugged, trying to remember the vaguely annoying human toon. "Can't have been anyone important. So - here's to old friends – and future greatness!"**

 **Mary raised her glass of carrot-juice. "I'll drink to that!"**

* * *

 **The next day dawned, and eager Toons around the world counted off on their Advent calendar three days left till Christmas. Out in Acme Forest, a Most_Terrain_Vehicle ground its way through the snowdrifts on the un-cleared country road and pulled up in front of the mallard family house. Rhubella Rat waved from the front turret hatch.**

 **"Nice wheels! Tracks, I mean." Margot Mallard, dressed in a warm parka, walked out to meet her friend. Her broad webbed feet sank very little in the snow, something she had been grateful for several winters in the wild without skis or any snowshoes except ones made from pine branches.**

 **"Mary lent it me for the day," Rhubella nodded. "She's busy getting her house ready – I took Fifi and the kids over. Fifi wanted to help. Old Acme Loo Toons stick together."**

 **"As do Perfectos," Margot smiled, inviting her old comrade in. Perfecto Prep officially scorned the plebeian idea of friends, but she had signed a non-aggression pact with Rhubella as far back as their second term. "Come on in!"**

 **Rhubella brushed the snow off her paws, looking around the hallway, sumptuously decorated in classic 19** **th** **century American Baronial style (railway baron variant) with richly carved polished wood everywhere. "Quite a place! Must take some looking after."**

 **"Oh… I have help, you know. Gladys and Gracie love their job. I tell them to take a rest, and as soon as my back's turned they're polishing again." Margot paused, and snickered. "You know, a lot of Toons have a thing about cute maid outfits. Very few of them are actually maids. Mine are. They even design and make their own costumes. How good is that?"**

 **"Only the best for a Perfecto girl." Rhubella followed Margot into the sitting-room, and gratefully accepted a big sofa alongside her. "Looks like you've got the whole deal. And a film-star husband, even. I saw his last movie, a couple of months ago."**

 **"Wasn't too bad," Margot allowed. "It helps if an actor can genuinely pull super-stunts without expensive special-effects. And Plucky's first hero form was 'The Amazing Captain W'."**

 **"With incredible wombat-like powers…. I remember." Rhubella shook her head in amazement. "Who'd have thought the amazing power to fast-dig a burrow and keep out predators by jamming it with a reinforced backside, could be such a smash hit? In Hollywood? Must have taken some scriptwriter to pull that one off."**

 **"Yes. That wasn't an accident." Margot's eyes narrowed slightly. "You know, I'm now his official Agent? Bought his old contract** **off Mr. Rosengeldensteinengeberger last year, for about the price of a kosher Weenie-burger. As far as he knew, Plucky was nothing but a lacklustre Acme Loo grad with no screen history or prospects. He was glad to get him off the books."**

 **"And… I'm guessing... the minute after the deal was signed the news came through about Plucky's first big film offer." Rhubella smiled. "Leaving you waving the contract, laughing your beak off, and the old Agent wailing and pulling his head-fur out."**

 **"Of course," Margot nodded graciously to her old colleague. "Plucky's my mallard. Nobody else gets ten percent of him."**

 **"Keep the money in the family, Rule of Acquisition sixty-three." Rhubella relaxed on the sofa, recalling their classes in back-stage politics. "It takes more than raw talent to get on the big screen these days. You have to know how things really work in the background – or have someone on your side who does."**

 **"Of course. I wouldn't tell Plucky that, naturally. He's convinced it's all his own sheer genius – that's part of his charm, for me." Margot stretched lazily. "Still. Why shouldn't I have a film-star husband? And he's really better than some actors out there. He was much undervalued at Acme Loo, as he'll tell anyone who looks the tiniest bit ready to listen." Although Plucky had fondly recounted many times Professor Bugs calling his final class drama project 'totally awesome', Margot had accessed the original report and knew the actual word had been 'awful.'**

 **"I read the review. Something about '** _ **As a portrayal of an egotistic, incompetent and not wholly sane super-hero, the Pluckster really delivers!**_ **' Shouldn't have taken much character acting." Rhubella paused. The house seemed very quiet. "Where is he? Still recovering from your welcome home?"**

 **"Oh, no. He's out in the woods, playing with Brandi and Candi. Gladys and Gracie are over in their bungalow, with their daughters and our little Douglas. They're A-1 on the domestic front. Twenty-four-hour room service."**

 **Rhubella snickered. "I can see the sort of room service you get off them. The storks know all about it, too." She looked meaningfully at Margot's stork feather, proudly displayed on a fine gold necklace.**

 **"Well, fair's fair. That's the way we got their two, Millie and Molly." Margot looked up with a well-practiced innocent air. "It so happens those dear chicks… rather take after me. All my finer features, and I don't just mean my plumage colour. They may be thankful of mammal ancestry, when they're older." She ran her finger down her distinctly mammalian bust.**

 **"And the stork feather you're carrying now?" Rhubella asked slyly. "Is that little bundle of joy going to be Revenge of the Mark One model avians? You've never believed in 'fair's fair'."**

 **Margot snorted. "No girls in my family have had plain Jurassic model cloacas in four generations. I hardly think it's going to happen now. Crinoline skirts and whalebone corsets are more likely to come back in style."**

 **"Putting a lot of faith into those storks, aren't you?" Rhubella looked Margot in the eyes. "They're hardly famous for accuracy."**

 **"You did all right by them," Margot riposted. "Your little Gigi looks pretty much all skunkette. Fifi's purple fur, even."**

 **"Her snout's a bit long for a skunk, and she's got nearly my whiskers. Fifi thinks she's beautiful, and so do I." Rhubella mused. "A back stripe that'll bring the skunk-hunks running someday, and she's definitely all skunk in the scent and tail department."**

 **"Teflon diapers a must, I should think." Margot stood up, and stretched. "Foulplay coffee? I have a special stock for my personal use." She brought over a steaming cafetiere and fine bone-china cups.**

 **"I'll say! I don't drink this when Fifi and her friends are around. They don't like the idea." Rhubella's nose twitched hungrily at the aroma. "I've not had any since I visited my sis Variola at Perfecto in September."**

 **"Ah. And how's she getting on?" Margot asked, sipping a Morbidly Obese Mocha.**

 **Rhubella closed her eyes for a few seconds, enjoying her own not-just-skinny-but-borderline-anorexic latte. "Doing well. She got an A in tactical backstabbing – and Professor Hatta Mari doesn't hand those out too often." Rhubella's grin grew crafty. "It's a good thing nobody at Perfecto knows what Variola got up to this summer. She's got a terrible secret."**

 **"Do tell," Margot murmured, always eager for intrigue.**

 **"Well. Just before I got married I'd set her a challenge; working out what I really saw in Fifi. Variola was going nuts trying to work out the angle. She found out Fifi was off-limits – but not before she tried."**

 **"There always has to be an angle. If Perfecto had unbreakable rules, that'd be one of them," Margot nodded.**

 **Rhubella sat back, grinning at her long-time comrade. "You're so smart, you work out what she finally tried."**

 **Margot closed her eyes, concentrating. The lights in the room dimmed slightly as an acquired special-effects shtick kicked in. Suddenly her eyes snapped wide open. "She couldn't work it out with the facts she'd got. She needed more data. Your skunkette's off limits for testing. So – she got her own?"**

 **"Right!" Rhubella's eyes sparkled with glee. "Clara, a nice girl-next-door type. Cute as a button – make that a shop full of buttons, really cute ones. Loyal, trusting, generous. Now, guess what went hideously wrong."**

 **"Mmm." Margot calculated for another minute. "So, Variola found herself a two-tone summer squeeze, and found out how much fun that was. Of course she'd plan to dump her on the last day of the holidays, very expendable, write up her report and head back. Standard Perfecto plan. So, what could possibly go wrong…?" she looked at Rhubella's expectant expression. "Let's guess. She didn't dump her after all, did she?"**

 **"Nope." Rhubella said. "It's a real nightmare, with everyone in her year sniffing each over all the time for the first sign of weakness. And she's fallen in love! How im-Perfecto is that?"**

 **Margot laughed. "Strategic alliances, like I made with Danforth and you with Roderick, that's the only approved style. And in the end I turned on Danforth, like he was about to do for me – but I got in first."**

 **"Like they taught us in Ethics class, '** _ **Do unto others as they would do unto you, but do it first**_ **.' No surprises you got top marks in the whole year," Rhubella murmured, remembering. "And Danforth – at least he made a good piñata."**

 **"Yes. Poor Variola," Margot chuckled. "I take it this Clara's no sort of approved asset? No significant money, status, connections?"**

 **"Totally worthless on those lines. Just a warm and loving heart, and getting close to one of those things is addictive, I found that out myself" Rhubella assented. "And as my sharp little sis learned to her disadvantage. I never said she'd be better off knowing the truth about me and Fifi."**

 **"Better hope she's grade A in keeping secrets." Margot sipped her Foulplay coffee.**

 **"Any Perfecto graduate's just got to be perfect at that." Rhubella reminisced. Suddenly she laughed. "Variola says this year's must-have Christmas gift in class is blood diamonds. That'd be controversial in most places. But if her class rivals found out she's looking forward to having such a plebeian Christmas with a skunkette who's bringing nothing but a warm heart…" she broke off, an eyebrow raised.**

 **Margot nodded, grinning. "Controversial? She'd never live it down!"**

* * *

 **Back in the army surplus shop after a nourishing and non-ration lunch of humanely harvested hummus and free-range chickpea falafels from the restaurant next door, Shirley was catching up on what had been going on without her.**

" **We've had a busy few months, certainly," Sergeant Gander said. "Had another run-in with those Careless Bruins. You know their idea of fun; 'whoops, planet-breaking kaboom, giggle'."**

 **"Gross." Shirley shivered. "What was their grody scheme this time?"**

 **"It didn't look too menacing on the face of it. They were smuggling in cases of counterfeit shampoo, something made in their home reality. Here's one of the bottles. Don't worry, it's empty." The tall gander tossed Shirley a recycled plastic container of a design she recognised.**

 **"'Cosmic Flower brand' eco-friendly feather conditioner. I use this myself. What was so wrong with it?" Shirley asked, blinking as she looked at the label.**

 **Her aura flashed wildly in alarm** _ **. The one we use says 'kind to plumage, purse and planet.' This one… doesn't mention the planet**_ **.**

 **"Like, mondo apocalypse-ville!" Shirley put the container down in a hurry. "What was it meant to do?"**

 **"It's a binary apocalypse shtick," Sergeant Gander said grimly. "On its own, it's safe to transport. You could pour it all over your feathers, no problem. But once it's in the bathwater and it contacts the chemicals commonly found in bathtub rubber duckies…" he broke off, shaking his head. "Did you ever hear of the 'Universal Solvent'?"**

 _ **Fer sure**_ **, Shirley's aura said uneasily** _ **. There's a chapter on that, in most of Mother's alchemy books. Alchemists spent years looking for it. We know they never found it… because we're still here.**_

 **"Well... catalytic Dip is bad stuff, no question. But this could take a chunk of Universe with it." The tall gander nodded significantly. "A runaway chain dissolution."**

 **"It's a good thing Colonel Fenix was on the ball when that uncool stuff hit town," Shirley said.**

 **Sergeant Gander grimaced slightly. "The one who cracked the case was – you. Your alternate self."**

 **Shirley's eyes bulged. "No way! That dark-side witch?"**

 _ **Dark side or not, she wouldn't have let those way inharmonious Careless Bruins dissolve the planet she's standing on, would she?**_ **Her aura commented wryly.** _ **I bet she kicked their cute but evil tails all the way back to the warp rift they crawled out of.**_

 **"Actually, she did. Literally. With hobnailed boots on, laughing her bill off with every kick." Sergeant Gander paused. "And when she did that, we found out how they survive being on worlds that have 'accidents'. Careless Bruins aren't made from matter and energy as we know it. They're like Cuterino particles; only interact with our world through gravity and the Weak Comedic Force. It's just they have an alien idea of humour."**

 _ **Weak Comedic Force,**_ **Shirley's aura recalled her Toon Physics classes.** _ **So… gross material stuff they wouldn't even notice – but low comedy could hit them?**_

 **"Yes. MegaToon yield missile warheads wouldn't hurt them; they can stand around giggling and admiring the view while they make the nearest sun go supernova. But being chased around with actual vintage slapsticks… they can feel that. Or your alternate self, using them for football practice." Sergeant Gander said. "Worth knowing."**

 **"Wierdsville." Shirley turned as she registered a powerful presence in the Farce nearby. Colonel Fenix was standing by his office door, beckoning her in with a feather-finger.**

 **"Like, Sir, or some junk?" Shirley asked brightly, closing the door as the tall phoenix sat down behind his desk. "It's way cool to be back – even with Calgari and that uncool crowd."**

 **Colonel Fenix looked at her, for a long moment. He sighed. "McLoon, please sit. I have a problem. WE have a problem."**

 _ **That's totally what we're here for, fer sure!**_ **Shirley's aura smiled.** _ **Some way dark-side spirits invading EinsToonian Space again? We'll make them sorry they were ever hatched!**_

 **Hal Fenix flinched at her words. "You remember when we hunted Resorbius, we went to Seattle and used the Time Needle? The building where they test future-proofing coatings and the like?"**

 **"That's a mondo affirm-o," Shirley nodded. "The tower's tip like, pokes into the future."**

 **"And it's also where they launch probes into the future. Early-warning probes, travelling the timestream. One of them came back three days ago, our time. It barely made it home; its future-proofing had almost entirely burned off." He paused, choosing his words. "That was when I decided to… let Lieutenants Calgari, Angelique and Tlalocopa attempt to bring you back. They'd been pestering me about it for weeks, and luckily the Evil Gazebo gig was in town to provide suitable energy."**

 **"I'm way grateful you did." Shirley nodded. "Even if they had to pull that way dark-side Spirit Tap spell to do it."**

 _ **The kind of spell we're supposed to hunt down Toons for using**_ **, her aura commented.** _ **Like, with extreme-o prejudice, totally zero exceptions.**_

 **"Yes, we are. But I wanted you back. Not your dark-side version. However efficient and powerful she was, I particularly wanted you. Because the problem… concerns you. Very personally." Colonel Fenix looked into Shirley's eyes searchingly. "You see – the probe brought back a warning from the future. If things go on as they are, two completely unstoppable dark-side Powers are going to emerge. In about three years, our time."**

 _ **Dark Powers?**_ _ **Just line them up, and let's wield some karmic justice**_ **, her aura flashed fiercely, manifesting an ectoplasmic Toon mallet.**

 **Shirley took a deep breath. "This is totally the reason I'm wearing an uncool uniform. Why I left my nest, and let that flaky mallard mate of mine sit on my eggs. To protect the world from junk like this happening."**

 **Colonel Fenix looked at her, sadness in his eyes. "I remember what you did. And why. But now I'll have to show you how that's due to turn out. First – here's a memory your mother shared with me. It's when she was out East at the MiskaToonic, a couple of months ago." He narrow-casted a thought to her.** _ **Mind-meld, please?**_

 _ **Like, go for it, dude Sir,**_ **Shirley's aura nodded, opening her perceptions.**

 **The scene was a renovated basement of arched eighteenth-century stone, lit by the ghostly glow of a modern electric pentacle. Shirley recognised the trappings of other high-energy metaphysics exploration – the plasma globes whose energy densities stressed weak points in the fabric of EinsToonian space-time, and the mostly special-effects 'Jacob's ladder' of spectacularly leaping electrical arcs without which no fashionable retro-physics lab was complete. In the background were the beige cabinets and spinning tape drives of a bulky, old-fashioned computer.**

 _ **An IBM 360, of about 1969 vintage,**_ **Colonel Fenix's thought appeared as sub-titles to the scene.** _ **Not chosen for its calculating power, a modern laptop would walk it. But it's been used at MiskaToonic to store arcane spell-casting data for so long, it's… picked up the idea for itself. It's not exactly a collection of electronics, any more.**_

 **Standing to one side was a scene Shirley was long familiar with from the basement of her family home; her mother Melissa, chanting from an ancient book whose rune-engraved lead covers and inch-thick braided copper earthing leads hinted at its dire potentials. Behind her, she saw two pale-feathered loon girls, apparently aged eight or so, with their feather-hands pressed tight to the old extra-beige cabinet of the ancient computer as if communing with it directly.**

 _ **Like, those are my daughters? In a few years?**_ **Shirley looked on, recognising her own younger features in them. But she had surely never looked like that – with expressions of chill disinterest, as if they had some distasteful job to do** _ **. And the threat's against them? I'll do anything. Anything, fer sure!**_

 _ **No, the threat's not against them.**_ **There was that sadness in the phoenix's tone that struck a chill in Shirley's soul.** _ **They've been away awhile some years our time, in that time-warped alternate world; that's what they look like right now.**_

 **Shirley and her aura exchanged glances.** _ **There's something he needs to tell us, but he doesn't want to say it,**_ **her aura said slowly.** _ **I have a nasty feeling about this.**_

 **"Fer sure" Shirley looked at Colonel Phoenix, her eyes wide in horror. The phoenix met her gaze steadily. "That mondo threat to the world isn't against them. It IS them."**

 **[First Commercial break]**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 **Under the snowy fields of Acme Acres, mid-morning saw Babs and Buster contentedly spending the holiday time indoors, Babs running a hare dryer over her just-showered pink and white fur. Being American Jackrabbits, they could claim to be either rabbits or hares, whichever the scene's punchline demanded.**

 **"Mortimer called when you were in the shower," Babs said brightly as her husband walked out towelling his fur. "He's got his grades for the term already. An A in Anvil Dodging, and a B+ in Escapology." She snickered. "Miss Prissy takes that class, as well as Props and Gags these days. I don't think she's in it for the Props part."**

" **Hog-tying escape and anvil evasion. That's like Jaggi's old all-action drama film school," Buster mused. "They had professors of all sorts of dire subjects. One department used to have a Chair of post-apocalypse studies." The tall zebra was currently qualifying as an Indoor Survival Instructor – very few modern Toons really needed advice on how to catch desert rattlesnakes for dinner, but the number perishing of ennui in office meetings and in bizarre spatula-related kitchen accidents was at an all-time high.**

 **"Post-apocalypse studies? That sounds more like Plucky's kind of shtick, something for after you've finished all the levels of Retro Rocket Rumble, and the other players have done that to you," Babs shuddered at the thought, switching off her hare dryer. "I've never been into squatting in burned-out basements, wearing torn black leather and eating pet food out of rusty tins with a saw-backed bayonet for cutlery." She paused, thinking. "You say Jaggi's place once had a chair of that? But not anymore? That genre's only getting more popular since President Hitcher took over."**

 **Buster shrugged. "They had to cut up the Chair for firewood. It's a survival thing. That's the way it goes with that kinda course."**

 **"I'll stick to comedy," Babs affirmed. "Thinking of which – Mortimer's putting on a Christmas show, with his whole class. On Christmas Eve."**

 **"Oh? In holiday time? That's keen." Buster's ears went up. "You want we should go and heckle?"**

 **Babs considered the matter. "We'll go and see it, but – we can't lend a helping paw. It's his show, now." She looked at the mantelpiece, crowded with Christmas cards. "Nice. That's all our old class still in touch. Even Gogo Dodo sent a New Year card… naturally his came in mid-June." It had followed weeks after the news of a happy event – Gogo and his partner now had a child that was a natural-looking blend of its parents, a dodo and a numerically controlled milling machine. ***

(Editor's note: the news had caused a great disturbance in the Farce, as if a million character design artists and animators had cried out in shock, their horrified screams dissolving into insane peals of shrieking laughter…)

 **"Of course," Buster nodded. "Japan's in a different time zone. It's ten in the morning here, but it's next August there already. Hamton's T-mailed his season's greetings, but no card from him yet. I'm sure he's sent one."**

 **"I expect it's stuck in the post, somewhere between here and Happy-World Land. So many reasons it might be." Babs struck a dramatic pose. "** _ **Either snow or rain, or fall of night, may stay These couriers, from the swift completion of their appointed rounds**_ **."**

 **"I think that's meant to be "Neither…." Buster suggested.**

 **Babs grinned. "Meant to be, sure. But have you tried using the post office lately?"**

 **"I tend to T-mail," Buster admitted. "Today I've got to send in a new script for us I'm working on, have to see how the studio like it."**

 **Babs squeezed her husband's cottontail affectionately. "That's my Buster! And you write it all yourself – no buying in gags."**

 **"I know the Studio used to do that a lot. There was a whole team of specialist writers, like Mister Pauling, who did nothing but puns," Buster recalled from his scriptwriting classes. "He was a skunk, I remember. A real gent too, the books call him the pun-gent writer."**

 **"** _ **Choose a Pauling Pun or appalling failure!"**_ **Babs quoted the writer's trademarked phrase. She cast an eye over to the cot where their son was fast asleep. "Well, I'm at least the author of our Blitz Bunny. Our very own First Edition. With some help from my co-author, of course."**

 **"Only to be expected, with your background" Buster suggested. "Your mother must be a best-selling author, with the scale of her output. Have to see if you'll match her someday."**

 **"Mmm." Babs' gaze softened, as she contemplated that. "We'll see all my sibs on Christmas Eve. One of our famous family parties, with scores of friends and relatives dancing all evening."**

 **"Rabbit family dances. Like 'Danny and the juniors' old Rock'n'roll track – '** _ **At the hop!'**_ **", Buster said.**

 **"Or in this version - Babs and the juniors." Babs snickered. "And I hear young Duncan Potter from the burrow next door's invited. He's growing into quite the handsome young buck. Going to turn a few heads, and tails too." She sighed, reminiscing. "And to think, only a few years ago I was baby-sitting him! Now my youngest two litters of sisters will be sizing him up at their hop."**

" **He'll have quite a choice of partners," Buster suggested. "A-bun-dance, even!"**

 **"Alice Esmeralda and Cheryl Eleanor Bunny are the girls in the fifth litter, Tanya Francine, Donna Fern and Vicky Francesca Bunny in the sixth," Babs replied promptly.**

 **Buster scratched his head-fur. "I thought all four of the youngest bunch were girls?" Babs' siblings were a confusing swarm to keep track of at the best of times, and often moved so fast as to leave fading freeze-frame after-images where they had been, making counting them difficult.**

 **"Oh, you mean Terry. Terry Francis Bunny, the youngest kit." Babs nodded knowingly. "Well… you know that Anime trope where the prettiest girl in school always turns out to be a boy? Turns out that's infectious. Terrie Frances Bunny, most people think the name is."**

 **"I remember you saying one of your brothers went through a Japanese phase, a couple of years ago," Buster recalled. "Carrots not good enough for him, all of a sudden – wanted to dine on Daikon radish and Wasabi all the time."**

 **Babs snorted. "That was him. Looks like he caught the meme off an unwashed Daikon, or something. Serves him right for turning his nose up at carrot cuisine." She paused. "So, as far as looks go – that is an all-girl litter. Nobody minds – with us having little Blitz we've already secured the family line or whatever, so the rest of my sibs can do whatever they like. Bonnie certainly is." Bonnie Clarice Bunny was currently enjoying her time away from the Acme Acres music conservatoire with her handsome fiancé Henri D'Aromar, and seemed likely to add to the skunk rather than rabbit population someday.**

 **"That's some range of dance partners. Should be interesting, to see who Duncan picks! I'm sure he knows the score, living next door like he does," Buster mused.**

 **Babs winked. "It's not as if Terry actually liked the idea, that wouldn't be so funny... but you know, what with him having three older sisters in the litter who just love to play dress-up - one way or another he always ends up in a skirt, like it or not. Makes for some real …** _ **interesting...**_ **plotlines for a rainy day in the burrow."**

 **Buster nodded. "Definitely an Anime meme. There's always a twist. If you see a guy with a dozen lovely girls throwing themselves at him, you can bet he'll have a reason he can't just say '** _ **Whoopee! Thank you, Great Scriptwriter in the sky!**_ **' And… appreciate it."**

 **"Mmmm. The dance is Christmas Eve, same day as Mortimer's play." Babs paused for a beat, then went on with expert timing. "One way or another, the bucks in the Bunny household are in for an… interesting experience."**

* * *

 **"So," Professor Bugs addressed his colleagues, as they gathered for the traditional end of term Staff meeting, in the nearest tavern. "We gots problems, guys. Those Sons of Schlesinger, they're gonna be watching our second-years real close. Mister Hackensaw invited himself to the show they's puttin' on. His whole bunch are likely to show up, too. We'd best make sure it goes with a swing."**

 **Yosemite Sam snorted, his long red moustaches curling and uncurling. "From those critters? If they's the best team Acme Loo can field this year, we'd best start packing our bags."**

 **"Eeh… I thought you were taking an interest in Bubba?" Bugs asked, one ear dipped quizzically.**

 **"He's maybe the best of a darned bad bunch." The desperado glowered up at him. "It's a sad day in this here town when the best student in my class is a varmint. There's none of the human folks in that year worth two whoops in Tarnation." He paused, remembering the brutal bull. "Leastways, Bubba comes from good stock, for a critter. Public-spirited."**

 **Bugs raised an eyebrow. He remembered the student dossiers very well; in the 1950's Bubba's grandfather had served on a nine-man town Committee Against Rock and Roll, and later on his father had hosted hearings on Un-American Activities which had run many dangerous extreme moderates out of town on a rail for being less than fanatically enthusiastic about their Mom's (admittedly fairly inedible) apple pie. Professor Sam had played many compatible film roles; he had stayed an unswerving Hanging Judge even when reassigned to traffic court.**

 **"We certainly must act, albeit with discretion," Professor Coyote's deep, cultured voice was heard. "Mister Hackensaw even complained about the materials covered in my science classes. The effrontery of it!" He pulled out a holographic pen recorder, and projected the previous day's encounter at 1:12** **th** **scale, floating above the table-top.**

 _ **The scene was the very recognisable Toon Physics laboratory at the end of a class and the last student's tail was vanishing through the door, leaving the Professor alone with the studio suit. Behind him on the wall was a scientific diagram of the sun, evidently the focus of the previous lesson. Useful captions pointed to its various features, such as one labelled 'Do NOT attempt landing. Not even at night – that trick never works.'**_

 _ **"I'm not happy with your teaching material," Hiram K. Hackensaw looked up at the tall coyote. "Not happy at all. It's too old-fashioned."**_

 _ **"Old-fashioned, sir?" Professor Coyote drew himself up in haughty surprise "I assure you, all the science taught in this class is the very latest."**_

 _ **"Science? It's just a bunch of theories. Some Prof says he's proved one, then another comes along in a coupla years and disproves it. And they both get paid for that! Load of hooey." Mr. Hackensaw waved a paw dismissively. "I don't want any more theories taught in class. Facts, only solid facts! Now, market forces, they're real. You can go real bust if you screw up on your market evaluations."**_

 _ **The coyote looked at him, outraged. "We can offer experimental and observational proof of the sun's dynamics, exactly as I teach them - and the theory on its nuclear processes are based entirely on the most recent data."**_

 _ **"Yeah, but that's your problem; you said a dirty word. Nuclear. So old-school. That hasn't been fashionable since the 1950's. Public opinion is against it these days, and our focus groups agree, it's no longer acceptable to the beliefs of a modern audience," Mr. Hackensaw said. "So, quit it. Right now."**_

 _ **Professor Coyote stared at him in a fur-bristling Wild Take for a second. "Sir – it is not a matter of belief. It is the best explanation Science has come up with. It has never been proved wrong."**_

 _ **Mr. Hackensaw shook his head slowly. "So? Not yet? You're supposed to be a super-genius. According to our brethren in Accounting, you receive a generous $2.37 yearly bonus for it on your pay cheque. If you want to keep getting any pay cheques, you find a more acceptable explanation. And if you can't do it by New Year – don't bother showing up next term.**_ **"**

 **Professor Wile-E shut off the projection, his fur bristling with indignation. "Un-heard-of cheek!" Mister Hackensaw had also demanded he find a better law of Nature than QuanToon Physics' famous Uncertainty Principle – what he wanted was a That's_exactly_where_it_is_and_no_funny_business Principle.**

" **You ain't the only one he's riled, Prof," Professor Bugs shook his head sympathetically. "Prof Road Runner got it just as bad. Tell 'em, Doc." The long-legged predator was missing his usually smiling expression.**

 **"Beep beep!" The athletic bird said angrily, his tall plume of head-feathers quivering.**

 **All the faculty decompressed the bird's ultra-compact language * and sat back in shock, trying to digest the full implications.**

 *** (Editor's note: evolved to make communication possible between two road runners passing each other at their usual closing speed of forty-eight frames per second, ( ~ ) their language is the second most compact known to Toon science. The most compact of all is spoken by ape-adopted Englishmen in the African rain forests, where "Ungava" can be uncompressed to several pages' worth of detailed instructions to friendly jungle animals…)**

 **(~ Editor's sub-note: while the maximum speed while staying wholly inside EinsToonian space is twenty-four frames a second, the closing speed of two Roadrunners at top speed has been clearly measured as twice that. This has annoyed other scientists who have proof that nothing can travel that fast. The debate, like the Roadrunners themselves, seems set to run forever.)**

 **"Ah say, that's, Ah say hittin' below the belt, I do declare!" Foghorn Leghorn said, the rooster's red hackles raised. The fact that he never wore a belt was a matter for sublime indifference to him, as was the fact that any "concealed" male Toon had nothing in harm's way there however they were hit. Unless it was funny, of course.**

 **Even Professor Sam was heard to mutter "Where Ah comes from, them's fightin' words."**

 **"Beep beep!" Professor Runner added profoundly. Evidently there was far more to him than running gags.**

 **"Yessss…." Miss Prissy chipped in, her just-arrived copy of '** _ **Poultry-trussing weekly'**_ **forgotten for the minute as she sat enthralled by the eloquent bird. "Ah simply could not have put it better mah self."**

 **"Ooh, dat mean ol' wed wolfy-hound," Professor Tweety agreed, the tiny canary hopping up and down in rage on his adorably cute toes. "We gotta fix his widdle wed wagon! But good!"**

 **Professor Bugs looked around, glad that his normally fractious colleagues were in agreement over something for once. "Eeeh… ain't dat a fact. 'Cept… it can't be us who does it, 'cept maybe backstage real quiet-like. Let's give those crazy kids a hand, folks."**

* * *

 **Several miles away from the bright lights and snug taverns of Acme Acres, a dense, snow-covered forest spread around the feet of Mount Acme, and an isolated mansion sat at the end of a long, snow-choked road. Stepping into its hallway out of the snow, Plucky Duck took off his long Winter overcoat and hung it up in the hallway, shaking the snow off his webbed feet and tail-feathers. "Brhhh. Chilly out there. I've been out with Brandi and Candi… their igloo's pretty warm, though."**

 **"Dear girls," Margot said fondly, walking in with him to the living room. "I was out there yesterday. Though I barely fit in that igloo with them – it's certainly built just for two. They say they have everything they want in there."**

 **A green mallard frowned. "When I was a duckling, I sure didn't want to sit in an ice house on animal skins, eating cold raw fish straight out of the lake. It was bad enough having to do chores like clean my room. I didn't have to build the house!"**

 **Margot patted the sofa next to her, and Plucky sat down. Margot's keen nose had been trained by years of surviving Perfecto (where a rival was likely to try slipping military grade laxatives in your Foulplay coffee before a competition) and more years in the wild (where a sabre-toothed tiger was likely to try slipping you on his dining schedule.) She scented direwolf fur bedding and the familiar oils of natural waterfowl plumage from her daughters. Living in the snow was clean, and after years in the wild she knew that insisting they come in and bath with soap or shampoo would only harm their natural waterproofing. "Let's talk about our daughters."**

 **Plucky nodded. "Sure! Don't you think Brandi and Candi, they ought to be getting into regular girl stuff? They've never been into dolls and that. Or even fashion. How are they going to upstage all their classmates when they go to school? They've already missed out on years of real important stuff like junior beauty queen contests!"**

 **Margot stroked her husband's green feathers fondly. "I don't think they're really interested. Oh, they could win anything like that – I suspect the judges would all suddenly develop blinding headaches whenever they dared NOT think about giving our pair the prize."**

 **Plucky scratched his head-feathers. "Funny how stuff like that always happens," he agreed.**

 **"They've got interesting powers, all right. And – '** _ **With great power comes great freedom from responsibilities**_ **'", Margot quoted a phrase from her alma mater. "Plucky. Our little chicks are going to be Apex Predators someday, whether in a world of direwolves and sabretooths – or here. They've inherited my Meme and a certain loon's powers, with nothing stopping them developing them – all the way." Her eyes gleamed. "They ate every drop of power out of a nuclear reactor. They can do more than that."**

 **"So you don't think they need … therapy or stuff? On account they're deprived, all those years in reed huts with no TV or brand-named merchandise?" Plucky asked.**

 **Margot shook her head. "They're doing fine, dear. The way they're going, the rest of the world is the one that ought to worry."**

 **Plucky Duck thought hard for a second. He remembered Shirley droning on for hours about the responsibility that came with power, and how everything must be used in a harmonious way. For a fraction of a second a flash of insight breezed past him – of what could happen to a world where the greatest Powers on it preferred lands untouched by civilization, and with a stone-age sized population. And had the ability to do something about that. What had they said about the friend they had met at the Miskatoonic, who wanted the world 'Cleaned off'? As his super-powered avatar the Toxic Revenger Plucky had specialised in cleaning up pollution and had assumed, at the time, they meant nothing but that. But just possibly…**

 **Then Plucky looked down at the Foulplay Coffee table by his elbow, and saw what had arrived for him in the post. Unwelcome, forbidding premonitions fled like shadows at daybreak. "Whoo-hoo! It's here!" His eyes widened as he grabbed and read through the latest weekly issue of '** _ **Survival Sporks and Fighting Foons of the world's Elite Forces'**_ **'. "How about that? Says here, the Eastern Molvanian Even-More-Special-Than-Most Forces, they've ground half an inch off their issued close-combat sporks. Making them Even-Closer Combat Sporks."**

 **"Must be easy being a journalist for that publication," Margot said lightly, spotting her volatile mallard's previous chain of thought was no longer binding. "Every time someone releases a new Foon design, they've know they've got a scoop." She turned on the even-wider screen television and spotted the familiar sight of Bobo Acme, the fat rodent proudly gesturing with his latest product.**

 _ **"Now available for everyone's Christmas stocking – the new, improved, Mark Two ACME-phone!" Chisel teeth gleamed in an expansive smile to match his expansive waistline. "So, you've got a smart phone already? Not like this one, you haven't!" His expression softened, though a conspiratorial look crept over him. "Friends. Have you ever made that all-important call then awhile later thought, 'I could have said that better?' I know I have. With the Mark Two ACME-phone – never again!" He leaned forward towards the camera, his voice dropping. "And how? So maybe your old phone has predictive text… sure, it'll fix the odd word here and there you got wrong. But only ACME have the all-new, one-hundred percent predictive message technology! Sends the message you SHOULD have sent! Hands-free operation, and it learns your style so everyone can prove it's from you! All messages sent are guaranteed legally binding, at no extra cost!"**_

 **"Cool!" Plucky's eyes widen. "Got to get me one of those." He reached for his credit card.**

 **Margot raised an eyebrow. "It's certainly different. It learns your style? Sends different messages depending who you are? I expect if you're the President using one to talk on the hot-line, it'd fix that dull old '** _ **we've started putting up Christmas decorations',**_ **to something more dynamic, like '** _ **we start bombing in five minutes**_ **.'"**

 **"Sure!" Plucky nodded. "And it's a special Limited Edition, too. * How cool is that?"**

(Editor's note: as with most of that company's exclusive products, production was strictly limited to either the number ACME hoped they could sell, or the amount of suitable stuff in the Universe to make them out of…)

 **Just then the commercials finished and the next show started. It took Margot a few seconds to decide it was not actually a savage urban fire-fight but a rock video.**

 **"That's Fowlmouth's band on TV again," Plucky said, a little wistfully. "Another Christmas record chart Number one for them."**

 **"Mm." Margot looked at the screen, intrigued as the band launched into a Death Metal version of a classic Christmas carol. "What's Vinnie Deer playing?"**

 **Plucky's eyes shone with excitement. "Hey! I'd heard they were getting one of those for the new album. That's a Specific Dynamics customised 405 mm Advanced Flugelhorn, with variable shock inlet ramps and plenum chamber burning. Borane fuel injection in the afterburner, even. Whoo-hoo!"**

 **"Must be what they call the 'high-energy sound'," Margot commented as she looked at the band with mild interest at their severe performance. Dizzy Devil was obviously having the time of his life, apparently attacking a set of heavily overclocked steel drums with a five-pound hammer in each paw.**

 **"Sure." Plucky looked at the band a little wistfully. The stocky rooster Fowlmouth was stage front laying down a heavy riff on lead guitar, backed by the eerie shriek of Furball on a lead/antimony electric violin. As befitted a metal band, Mitzi Avery had upgraded her superconducting Theremin to a more extreme keyboard made from the pure Trautonium metal that was found only in Wacky-Land. "It was great to jam with them, that one time at our wedding."**

 **Margot's expression softened. "Next year, would you like to do more than that? Appear on worldwide stage and screen with them? Suppose there was a film calling for the band and your… distinctive talents."**

 **Plucky's eyes lit up. "That'd be great! But…" his feathers drooped slightly. "What's the chance of some scriptwriter coming up with something that needs us all in the cast? And the studio picking me for the star role?"**

 **Margot's eyes narrowed. She nodded, plans beginning to fall into place. There were phone calls to make and T-mails to send, but she already knew just who to call and just what to say. "Ohh… I think you just might be surprised."**

 **Finishing his Survival Spork magazine, a relaxed film star reached for the games controller. "I missed this." Plucky's feather-fingers were a blur as he loaded and played his NumbMindo console. "Couldn't take it to the wild Alternate World with no batteries, and way too busy being awesome on the film set to have any quality gaming time there."**

 **Margot cast an eye over her husband's shoulder at the game. 'Retro Rocket Rumble' seemed to have acquired some new features since the last time she had glanced at it. "That's different."**

 **Without taking his eyes off the screen, Plucky nodded towards the latest issue of '** _ **Re-entry vehicles in heat'**_ **that had been awaiting his return to Acme Acres. "It's a whole new ballistic ballgame! Anti-ballistic, even."**

 **"Mmm." Idly, Margot leafed through the highly enthusiastic gaming magazine. It seemed that now there was a game option to either try and defend one's home base with interceptor missiles, or battle against those defences. She looked at the front-page article announcing '** _ **Hot blue-on-blue 1970's 'What-if' season! Classic all-genuine speculative historical action! Watch allies go rogue! Safeguard ABM vs British Chevaline RV grudge-match! An epic clash of 'Spartans' with a 'Sprint' finish**_ **!'**

 **"I'd bought this upgrade for Brandi and Candi to play. But they just don't want to know. Have they been watching enough TV?" Plucky's eyes briefly turned square as he stared at the screen. His feathers turned pale at a terrible thought. "Have they watched any?"**

 **"No… they have an interesting way of seeing the world. They read minds and auras, not flat images. TV doesn't impress them at all." Margot paused. Brandi and Candi had lost any remaining interest in TV programs when they had decided most of it was 'not real' and had demonstrated an uncanny ability (especially on news shows) to spot when any Toon was lying.**

 **Plucky frowned. "How are they ever going to be film stars, if they don't even watch films?"**

 **"Not their priority." Margot looked down at a screen where Plucky seemed to be busy compensating for his daughters' lack of interest. "That looks well spectacular, at least." On the screen was a landscape with a huge truncated pyramidal radar structure overlooking an array of what looked like very high-tech manhole covers. Suddenly one of them popped open and belched fire, a conical missile leaping into the sky at incredible acceleration.**

 **"Whoo-hoo-hoo! Sprint missile! Watch it go! Pulls one hundred G right off the pad – eat your heart out drag racers! Hits Mach ten in six seconds flat – the missile skin glows white-hot with air friction!" Plucky watched on the graphic plot as the interceptor dropped its first stage and converged on an incoming line of white fire… that promptly fizzled out like a fading firework ember before Plucky's missile reached it. Another four incoming lines stayed disturbingly solid all the way to the ground, until the screen suddenly flashed 'Game Over'.**

 **"Oops. There goes the neighbourhood," Margot said lightly.**

 **Plucky snorted in disgust. "Rassa-fraggin' sneaky Chevaline Re-entry Vehicle. I only hit its decoys. Again. They're despicable."**

 **Margot smiled, her arm on his shoulder. Some folk might think her husband had an unhealthy obsession with the leisure applications of thermonuclear warfare, she reflected. But it could be a lot worse – in various quiet ways she kept track of her mallard better than the Safeguard radar pyramids on his game guarded their base, and knew he had not strayed in the slightest in the months away from her. Despite basking in fame and adoration as a film star, he had shown no interest in doing anything with the hordes of eager young fans and starlets but signing their autograph books. "Plucky? We need to talk."**

 **"Well, sure." Plucky put down the games console and rejoined his wife on the sofa.**

 **Margot nuzzled close to him. "You know… Gladys and Gracie have been very good to us. Raising the chicks, and doing all the housework too. But now they're getting egg-heavy… they could use some help."**

 **"No problem! Hire a whole cleaning team! We can afford it." Plucky nodded. "Just go ahead."**

 **"Actually… I was thinking... of just one extra pair of hands. Someone we know." Margot whispered. "Not a whole team of strangers. Do you know, when you're away, G and G walk around the house and do all their work… unconcealed? When they're in the mood. And they often are."**

 **Plucky's eyes bulged in a Wild Take, almost a Clampett Corneal Catastrophe as he imagined the purebred avians Gladys and Gracie bending over to straighten a rug or clean out a fireplace. Like Plucky and most such Toons they usually wore nothing below the waist, but when Concealed that made little difference. Unconcealed, however…**

 **Margot looked up, and snickered at the image Plucky's hyperactive imagination was projecting hologram-style. "Pretty much like that, yes. I had an idea for a Christmas present we could all enjoy." She paused. "Not all presents are something you can wrap in paper."**

" **Well, sure. My folks got me a foreign holiday for my Birthday once. Took me a month to find my way home." Plucky reminisced. There had been some problem with his return ticket, but that had been surely accidental.**

" **Yes. And for starters, just a visiting daily household help. I'm thinking of asking a cute red-head-feathered maid I know if she could help out." Margot's eyes fixed on Plucky.**

 **Plucky scratched his green head-feathers. "One of those maids who clean up and everything at Perfecto? You kept in touch?"**

" **Oh, no. Rather closer to home." Margot's eyes bored in hungrily. "Plucky… remember when you taught me to spin-change? You demonstrated the most extreme change you'd ever done."**

 **A wary look crossed Plucky's bill. "I'm not sure I like where this is going."**

" **Oh, but I'm sure you'll just love it when you get there." Margot put on her most beseeching look. "My film-star husband can play any role so very well."**

" **I'll say! Why, on my final skill assignment at Acme Loo, Professor Coyote himself said my disguise skills were 'quite devilish!'" Plucky preened.**

 **Margot smiled inwardly, knowing the actual words used had been 'utterly diabolical'. "Show me just how amazing your spin-change skills are. Please? Let's meet Skylar, that adorable petite maid."**

 **Plucky winced, then took a deep breath. Standing up, he stood in front of the mirror and concentrated, recalling the form he had taken just once in their official class films, and that under loud protests.**

 **[That neat-freak obsessive Hamton just HAD to get to the studio before me, didn't he? And bag the plum role as the Vanderbunnys' butler ] He grumbled inwardly. [Leaving me with just the one part that hadn't been cast… like anyone wanted it. ]***

(Editor's note; entirely true and fully canon. See their original class film, "Journey to the centre of Acme Acres.")

 **The green mallard spin-changed, his muscular form dissolving in a starry burst of special-effects he had once 'liberated' from a passing Anime show. The shape that appeared when the effects faded was very different.**

" **Oh, yes!" Margot grinned, her eyes wide at the sight. Her Perfecto classes in Social Engineering were proving useful as ever, she reflected. "Very nice."**

 **Plucky Duck had vanished. In his place stood a female duck, still mostly green-feathered but with shoulder-length tresses of curled red head-feathers. Her shape, though slender and shyly 'concealed' showed traces of definite mammal ancestry. "This is… embarrassing."**

 **Margot cast an appreciative eye up and down the new form – mostly down, and not only as she was now a head and a half taller. "Back at Acme Loo, I'm reliably informed your Professor Bugs does it all the time. And sometimes off-duty too. Whenever his wife Honey doesn't feel like social engagements, he fills in for her. Outfits and all."**

" **Well, he wasn't MY mentor. That's a 'rabbit thing'," Skylar muttered. "In our fourth year I went along with Buster, he said he was going to compete in 'Drag City'. I thought it was a street-car race…"**

" **I know you like drag racing," Margot said innocently. Plucky could often be seen avidly watching ToonTube clips of something loud and fast over a quarter mile, preferably belching flame for no good engineering reason.**

 **Plucky/Skylar snorted. "Not rabbit style drag I don't! How Buster could run in those heels I'll never know."**

 **Margot raised an eyebrow, amused. "Skylar…" She stood up, pressing against the blushing maid. "Can you hold this form for an hour or three? No matter what happens?"**

 **"Yes, ma'm. You want me to clean and polish a bit, while G and G rest their egg-bumps?" The redhead blinked. "I can try. But we can get a team of pro cleaners in who'd do it much better."**

 **Margot turned to look at their reflections in the mirror, comparing and contrasting. Skylar was easily four inches shorter than Plucky, and far lighter of build. Evidently as there was far less of a feminine side to Plucky, that form was correspondingly smaller. "Sweet Skylar. You haven't quite got the point yet. I'm sure my dear husband would have at once, he's so clever," she deadpanned. "But then, G and G would never get that… relaxed, when he was home. He's not their type, at all. But a pert little thing like you... oh, yes!"**

 **Inwardly, Skylar/Plucky shivered as (s)he recalled Acme Loo's Classical Film Tropes classes.** _ **Pert? Nobody says that any more. Next thing, she'll be putting on a Pirate hat, throwing me over her shoulder and growling "A-harrr, me proud beauty! Now I has ye in me power!"**_ **Suddenly a red light special effect shone above Skylar's head. "You mean… with me... and them?"**

 **"Let's just say 'all of us' and take it from there," Margot purred. "Since getting those cute little egg-bumps, G and G have been… let's say, really interested. Hormone levels up to their beaks. They'd pounce on sweet Skylar like hawks, if she showed the slightest bit of… interest back." She looked at the maid appraisingly. "So… would you?"**

 **Skylar blinked. "What, me, with three girls? All of them… expecting?" Margot's stork feather certainly counted. "I mean but as a girl… what would they see in me?" There came the quiet 'pop' of a Toon Unconcealing as Skylar thought about that scene. Looking down, Skylar was embarrassed to see just how total the spin-change was, and though naturally the reaction was not the same as Plucky's, it was – equivalent.**

 **Margot looked on, and laughed in delight. "I think that'll do nicely."**

* * *

 **Back at their army surplus store headquarters, Colonel Fenix had finished briefing his team on the disturbing news about Shirley's daughters the probe had brought back from an alternate future. Some of the team were as shocked and worried as Shirley had been. The vultures – it was hard to say what if anything they thought, as usual. (Shirley had read many books on dream interpretation, but none on drool interpreting.) And predictably, three of the team were delighted with her problem.**

" **Well," Angelina said lightly. "Looks like your daughters are definitely volunteers for the Dark Side. Nice to know your chromoplasm has it in there."**

 **"They are totally not!" Shirley snapped. "Those girls were like, destined to be the like totally harmonious Celeste and Astra. If I'd raised them, they would be."**

 **"We should get them over here, where we can train... I mean, keep an eye on them," Angelina mused. "Ah. The pitter-patter of little feet, what a nice idea," Her face was wistful. "I must try accepting one of those Stork feathers they keep dropping on me."**

 **Shirley's aura looked sourly at the magpie.** _ **Like you corvids aren't into – making omelettes. And I bet you're not fussy about the ingredients.**_

 **Calgari nodded towards the Fraudulent Lebanese takeaway next door, where one of the staff could be heard loudly extolling the quality of his flatbreads to prospective customers. "Thinking of such - hearing the pitter-patter of little Dark Side feet would make a nice change from the pitta-patter of Middle-Eastern bakers."**

 **"Fer sure," Angelina said.**

 **"And in the New Year, we're all due some leave," Calgari mused. "Want to come along, Shirley? There's this new theme park opened up in Los Angeles… just like that Happy World Land** _ **'where all your dreams come true**_ **', but for nightmares. Based on a daemon world of ultimate horror."**

 **"And if there's anything penultimate about it, you get your money back!" Angelina put in happily. "What's not to like? Fun for all the dark-side family!"**

 **"Si! You should have fun, Shirley, let your head-feathers down a bit," Tlalocopa urged. "Is their speciality, live-action role-playing games!"**

 **Shirley glowered at her. "Doing this job, you want that for a holiday?"**

 **"Well, Colonel Fenix wouldn't be around to spoil the fun," Angelina said. The magpie winked. "You could get to do what you really want to, deep-down. We intend to."**

" **We save all the people!" Tlalocopa pronounced, with a grandly sweeping gesture.**

 _ **Save? Like, since when?**_ **Shirley's aura asked acidly.**

 **The chupocabra thought for a few seconds. "OK, so maybe 'DOOM' is better word. I always get those two mixed up. But hey, who's fussing?"**

 **Shirley's beak wrinkled. "It's as bad as that Dark-side world I was on. Way paranoid. They had a Secret Society that was put together under one of our Presidents in the 1840's to carry out his plans… and just kept on going ever since."**

 _ **Got handed a chunk of secret money and bank accounts with compound interest piling up over the decades, enough to pay their wages like forever,**_ **her aura agreed.** _ **Some of the Toon members of the bunch are the originals, the rest they just kept recruiting over the years.**_

 **"Oh, you mean Polk's Punks?" Sergeant Gander asked, while a look of horror spread on Shirley's face. "They're real here too, we've met them. President James K Polk wasn't the only one who left his project running when he left WashingToon. There's at least half a dozen groups like that. It's like they just got wound up, pointed the right direction and set loose. Teddy Roosevelt's old bunch, the 'Revenant Rough-cut Real-time Rough Riders' are even worse."**

 **"Grody." Shirley shivered. An icy feeling swept over her, remembering all the times she had sneered at articles in Plucky's favourite supermarket checkout reading, the trashy '** _ **Conspiracy, actual fact, not Theory! Weekly'**_ **tabloid. "I totally cannot believe the world really runs like that." She had of course met and talked to that entity which the Pentagon was built to imprison, but there were limits.**

 **"No?" Calgari said in helpful tones. "Well… there may be a perfectly good reason for that. Perhaps you're insane?"**

 **"This, from someone who trusts a Master calling himself "The father of Lies", Shirley snapped. "Get real."**

 **Calgari gave a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Please! It's '** _ **The first spin-Doctor'**_ **these days. A man of wealth and taste, he naturally moves with the times. Like the rest of us Addams Academy graduates."**

 **"We only wearing black till we find something darker," Tlalocopa agreed.**

 **"Just think; in some religions you have to contribute to the funds," Angelina nodded. "With his, you get paid! Cash! Hard currency!"**

 _ **I don't see he's got anything to be cheerful about, in his mondo long-term plans**_ **, her aura added, focussing on the raven.**

" **Hey! Just because he's from the flip side of that pantheon, doesn't mean Calgari can't be a shiny-eyed, joyous happy-clapper too. Dressing in black and looking miserable isn't compulsory on either side. Everyone cheers for their own team, don't they? Nothing wrong with that," Angelina objected. "He sings hymns too."**

 **The raven pulled out his air guitar with a flourish, and winked at Shirley as he filked his religion's version of the classic track 'Spirit in the sky':**

" _ **Droppin' on down to the Universe below,**_

 _ **That's where we all end up when we go**_

 _ **When I die and they leave me to rot**_

 _ **Gonna go to the place where it's hot!**_

 _ **Always been a sinner, good at sin,**_

 _ **(I got a deal with Satan!)**_

 _ **So I know that, when I go,**_

 _ **I get a staff position, in the Universe below!"**_ **Calgari sang cheerily.**

" **Like, as if!" Shirley snapped, a sour expression on her bill** _ **. If they have a National Anthem, I bet it starts with an anguished chorus of 'But we had a deal!**_ **' she thought.** _ **With an endless canned backing track of fiendish laughter.**_

 **Her aura poked an immaterial tongue out at the raven.** _ **That is SO not my pantheon,**_ **she sniffed.** _ **But like, certain-mundo he's going to be in for a mondo disappointment.**_

 **"Fer sure. Better check the sub- QuanToon-scale small print on that grody contract I just bet you signed like a total dweeb" Shirley agreed. "If you think you can ever win on that kind of deal – just remember where all the lawyers end up. And they've had plenty of time to plug all the loopholes before you signed it."**

 **"As Colonel Fenix says, '** _ **the Devil's in the details'**_ **. That's why he tries to keep things vague," Sergeant Gander said. "I'm due for some leave myself. Being in Acme Acres is good for me."**

 **Shirley nodded, remembering his girlfriend was a certain Maria Mandarin who on many timelines had been by now happily married to Plucky. She winced inwardly, remembering exactly how she had selfishly derailed that natural plot development, doing severe damage to her own karma in the process, and remembering just where that deed had got her.**

 _ **It looked like a good idea at the time,**_ **her aura commented sourly** _ **. We've seen like, hundreds of time-streams where she's an item with Plucky, way contented – and where we're having a mondo harmonious time with Drogo de Vere.**_

 **"Nice, isn't he?" Angelina grinned. "If you like hippie stuff."**

 **Shirley's head feathers bristled as she stared at the magpie in horror, realising her thoughts had been read without her even knowing. "Like, get out of my head! How can you DO that to a Toon on your own team?"**

 **Angelina laughed. "Why, I'll tell you. Your light-side, conflicted head, Shirley McLoon, is one big mess right now. Getting in there is like hopping the border of a country in turmoil. Laughably easy, with all the border guards… distracted."**

 **"Which we've done a few times, for specialist Civil War tourism, seeing the sights." Calgari said in helpful tones. "Plus, any of us three are much stronger than you are. The Dark Side of the Farce really is superior, you know. We've been running Spirit Tap spells on whole crowds of Toons, and…" He winked. "You might say we've reaped a lot of useful high-energy mana."**

 **"In a mana of speaking," Angelina deadpanned.**

 **"Ah. Thinking of our dear ally Mister Drogo De Vere," Calgari mused. "I met him in medieval times, in Western Molvavia. I was incarnated as the King's chief tax collector, and Drogo was the Court Magician."**

 _ **Western Molvania, about the year 1360?**_ **Shirley's aura broadcasted in shock.** _ **We were there! As a Wise Woman. A natural healer, or like some called us, a Hedge Witch**_ **.**

 **"Hedge witch? You tackled daemonic topiary, possessed shrubberies and that?" Tlalocopa asked, interested.**

 **Shirley sniffed. "No. I was like, a country healer using secret herbs, ancient healing springs and other way cool stuff." The healing springs had been more than merely cool in the medieval winters; she recalled usually having to break the ice before using them half the year.**

 **"Ah. Just like our dear President," Calgari murmured. "Though not so well qualified."**

 **"No way! He's a medically registered psychopath!" Shirley stepped back in shocked disgust.**

 **"And you were a naturopath. That's half identical. But you weren't medically registered, unlike our dear leader. Believe me, back then I'd have taxed you double for it if you were." Calgari winked.**

 **"I missed out on that century," Angelina said wistfully. "Now there's no shining knights in towering castles, just drab costumed Toon troopers digging trenches."**

 **"Farewell, age of chivalry. Now it's the age of shovel-ry," Calgari agreed. He winked. "But I can dig that scene too. Dig it deeply."**

 **Shirley wrinkled her bill in disgust and wordlessly walked out, heading back to centre her energies in her trailer, with her aura in tow.**

 **The Addams Academy trio looked at her retreating tail-feathers with amusement.**

 **"Is good we brought her back, as comic relief," Tlalocopa declared.**

 **"Yes. Even though she doesn't know that's her true role in life. Which makes it all the funnier," Calgari said. "One day, she'll realise. I plan to be there, with a comfy seat and popcorn to watch."**

 **"Maybe she'll go violently insane?" Angelina said hopefully. "We can drag her off to that Institute for the Comically and Criminally Insane. I bet their Director Doctor Wyrdbeard would just love her as an inmate, help make up for her losing him all his star patients." She considered the matter. "We could have online petitions where the public write in suggesting bold and radical 'treatment' every day. The most radical wins."**

 **"Nice idea," Calgari agreed. "If in doubt, always increase the voltage."**

 **"You're always the wisest one of us," Angelina smiled, preening herself against the raven's midnight feathers. "It's just too bad Colonel Fenix won't approve your application papers to be our padre – or equivalent. You look so good in black."**

" **Other religions have their padres in the military," Tlalocopa agreed. "When I convert enough Toons to the true Aztec gods, I go for that job too!" She patted the obsidian sacrificial dagger that sat ever ready at her belt.**

 **"I'd make a good padre, I hope," Calgari said. "I've been checking up on their usual duties – console the dead, bury the wounded…" He winked. "Or anyway, something like that."**

* * *

 **Unit Four Plus Two was not the only team that day making plans to tackle pressing problems. The Acme Looniversity second-years met in their favourite diner, the Marina Mall restaurant, which had a tacky nautical theme involving obviously rubber seaweed and poorly-drawn mermaids but was at least cheap. It was much cheaper dining for some of the group than others.**

 **"Hey, waiter!" Lucretia called from one end of the room, the gothic mouse scowling as she angrily waved her just-delivered order. "This donut's got a hole in it!"**

 **While all heads were turned, in the other direction there was a quiet splash and the big ornamental pond with live Koi carp was suddenly a little emptier. A tonne of gastropod girl wriggled happily, and returned her stinging tentacle to its place under her shell as she engulfed and digested her prey.**

 **Sitting at the table opposite her, Mortimer Bunny shook his head. He had tried to explain to Shelley the concept of paying for fish, but a thousand years of habits were hard to change. No, he corrected himself – just of old habits. Shelley had picked up so many new memes, and was cheerfully parking her bulk next to a table with all the other girls in class sitting around. His Mother and sisters had taken to her too, despite their rather different backgrounds.** _ **Shelley's just one of the bunch now**_ **, he shrugged in resigned bafflement.** _ **And now she's my steady girl – with a size and shape like that, she's about as steady as a pyramid…**_

 **Shelley sensed his thoughts and slid her siphon under the table to touch him, the mollusc appendage like a slippery, muscular firehose** _ **. That fish was good**_ **… she narrow-casted to** _ **Mortimer but I know what I'd rather enjoy …**_ **she raised her shell slightly, exposing more of her glistening mantle. Mother-of-pearl gleamed in rainbow-shot silver as her exposed inner shell caught the light.**

 **Mortimer gulped, and stood up. "OK, folks. It's time we made a start on planning our big show."**

 **"I sense doom," Cassandra pronounced.**

 **"Cheer up, Cassy!" Henry noticed the bloodhound's more-than-usually long face. "It may never happen!"**

 _ **Not the kind of thing to say to a Prophetess**_ **, Mortimer thought fleetingly.** _ **Like saying 'no news is good news' to a journalist…**_

 **"Oh, it will." Cassandra said mournfully. "Probably in extreme slow-motion, extreme close-ups, with montaged high-definition shots from a dozen camera-views endlessly repeated on tape loop. And the footage gone viral on ToonTube."**

 **"Is there such a thing as a cheerful bloodhound?" Henry Smith wondered aloud. "There's that one in the third-year classes; he's in demand as a world-class tracker but always moans he's never appreciated." He scratched his head, recalling a line from the English philosopher Robyn Hitchcock – '** _ **Everybody needs my nose, but no-one knows my needs'. ***_

(Editor's note: from 'It's not just the size of a walnut", Robyn Hitchcock and The Soft Boys, 1977)

" **Cassandra's family is all like that," Lucretia offered. "Her big Sister was one of those who prophesied a few years ago, that rogue Planet Nibiru was going to smash into Earth and wipe us all out."**

 **"Her predictions are usually very accurate," Cassandra said darkly. "She may well have been entirely right. Maybe it really did."**

 **Mortimer blinked, looking around at the intact snowy landscape through the window. "So how come we're still here?"**

 **"I'll not say her theory doesn't need a bit more work. But really, you only think you're still here. It's all in your head. Or maybe somebody else's. Someday the illusion may crack, then you'll be sorry," Cassandra intoned.**

 **Mortimer squared his shoulders, looking round the room. His whole class had turned up – Shelley, Cassandra, Lucretia, Gene, Henry, Granville, Nootka, Marie-Sioux and Gibson. Even Bubba was there, uninvited – he could see the shadow of the hulking bull cast on the glass diner door as the bully waited outside to pounce on anyone heading towards the bathroom. He took a deep breath. "Right, people. Professor Bugs and the rest of the staff will be coming to see our show – so will the Studio, and anyone else around Acme Acres who wants. We're all being marked on this project. So, this is from all of us."**

 **"What show are we going to do? And who stars in it?" Henry Smith asked. "We've hardly got time to write one from scratch… I mean, in three days?"**

 **A special-effects economy-mode light bulb sprang into being over a pair of rabbit ears as Mortimer had a sub-brilliant idea (none of the class needed to put their sunglasses on). "Let's all write it together, at once! This'll work – I saw it done on TV once."**

 **"It's crazy," Henry mused. "But round here … just possibly, it's crazy enough to work."**

 **"Parallel processing. It's the big thing these days" Gibson Goat said, multi-processing as his drone fought it out with the steam-powered ornithopter automaton his Steampunk rival was controlling by the 19** **th** **Century Hertzian waves that had preceded modern radio. "A neat trick if you can do it."**

 **Marie-Sioux put her hand up. "May I be the heroine? If we're going to show everything we've learned, it'll have to be a mix of genres. Including romance drama. I'm awfully good at that."**

 **"And action drama, I'm good at that," Lucretia mused. Suddenly the mouse's eyes glittered. "Act One, Scene one – Mary-Sue shows her humble, self-sacrificing nature as she saves the day."**

 **The human girl smiled wistfully. "I accept! You can write my part in. We should all write each other's parts. And make sure there's plenty of changes of pace."**

 **"So… we start it as an Action Movie. Lights! Camera! Drama! Act one, scene one, Mary-Sue throws herself on a grenade to save the Company! Of course it's pointless; turns out they were safe out of range all along." Lucretia mused, pencil and notebook suddenly in paw. "One second later, it all switches to musical comedy mode. Everyone points at the crater, laughing their snouts off. And then they sing!"**

 **For such a small Toon, the mouse had a surprisingly powerful voice, and put her heart into it as she switched to real-time improvised dramatic mode, bursting into impassioned song:**

" _ **What a dumb Toon! What a maroon! In Scene One she went Ka-boom!**_

 _ **Oh, I'll never take a bet, that she's as thick as she can get!**_

 _ **The lamest loon, see her outsmarted by a balloon!"**_

 **"I forgive you." Marie-Sioux radiated an air of injured innocence that had radiation alarms ringing half-way across town. "Shall I play a poor, humble tragic orphan?"**

 **"Good idea. One whose poor, in fact downright shoddy parents were tragically, if amusingly slain years before she was even born, on a game-show pilot. It was never even aired, that was the tragic bit." Her eyes crossed dreamily. "Spectacularly slain in high-definition extreme close-ups along with all their relatives and family friends, down to their most casual business acquaintances…" Lucretia mused. "We can cast Bubba as the hero just for a change, come back from the future to finish the pest control job, Toonminator style."**

 **"Why does it always have to be from the future?" Granville Laverne asked curiously. The steampunk badger was not dressed in his compressed-air driven power armour for a change, but wore a long tight-buckled coat of embroidered steam-proof leather with a pair of brass-rimmed goggles pushed high up his forehead. "Mister Wells had a perfectly good Time Machine working as early as the 1890's, and he could go back with it much further than that." He tapped the luminous brass sundial on his wrist.**

 **Lucretia nodded. "That'd work too. Bubba plays a noble warrior from the heroic past, come to the corrupt present to put studio finks like Mary-Sue to the sword, in the traditional style. Or is it, to have the sword put to her? Let's try both."**

 **"Whoever's starring in it, someone will have to work the cameras and such," Henry Smith mused. "Granville and Gibson, as usual?"**

 **"It's a bit unfair to have you two techs always behind the scenes," Mortimer objected, looking at the badger and the goat. "Though someone has to do it."**

 **"We can use my flyers for some of that, program their Jacquard input cards for the zooms and high angle shots" Granville offered, his seagull-sized ornithopter automata folding its steel wings as it landed on his shoulder to refuel from the compressed-air tank in its inventor's leather knapsack. "Kind of job most classes give to their bird pals. Ours is the only year in the whole school without a single avian, or bat even."**

 **"Funny thing, that," Mortimer agreed. There had been six avian Toons in his sister Babs' class, seven if you counted Gogo Dodo (whose exact status in the school, as well as relative to the rest of EinsToonian space-time, had always been ambiguous.) "Professor Bugs usually picks more of a balance, species-wise. We're almost all mammals."**

 **"Hmm." Gibson Goat's head-up display screen flashed a sequence of graphs and charts. "Depends on what algorithm you use. Shelley counts as both Extremely Weird and Extremely Large – so if you average the class weirdness per mass unit, it works out the same as any other year."**

 **"Say what?" Mortimer blinked.**

 **"He means, she cost a lot of points. For the price of Shelley on the team, Professor Bugs could have bought a whole flock of little birds, bats, three-toed tree toads, even." Lucretia explained. "In other years, he did. Most classes have a lot more Toons in them."**

 **"We'd better keep this simple," Mortimer said. "Cast: a hero and a heroine, a villain and villainess. Assorted friends of each. We could splash out on an exotic location, though."**

 **"Abroad? We'll probably all catch O'Nyong-Nyong virus," Cassandra prophesied.**

 **Gibson's head-up display flickered as he accessed information. "That's a real disease," he confirmed.**

 **"No doubt genetically engineered and spread by Patrick O'Nyong-Nyong, the discredited Irish/Congolese missionary doctor," Lucretia put in cheerfully. "It was a slack day for epidemics, and he needed to drum up some paying business."**

 **"Not so sure about** _ **that**_ **…" the cyberpunk muttered, after a much longer search.**

 **"Could be worse," Lucretia added "We could all catch African Rift Valley fever, and get torn apart by enormous African rifts! Our model sheets ripped to shreds and scattered to the winds!"**

 **"That too," Cassandra agreed. "And lo! Verily shalt they perish, each one after their kind. Like unto ancient rubber bands long shrivelled by pitiless sun."**

 **Mortimer coughed. "So… I think we'll skip the exotic location. Anyway, we've not got time for any elaborate set building."**

 **"Back in a sec," Henry called out, heading into the corridor towards the toilets, which were between the bathroom and the restroom. Which had a bath and couches respectively, of course.**

 **Lurking outside, Bubba spotted him and picking up what he had hidden behind his back, hurled a twenty-pound sandbag at Henry – who promptly ducked. The heavy bag carried on twenty feet, and hit a stack of painting supplies where the management were redecorating the corridor. Striking one end of a six-foot plank, it sent it spinning end over end, back the way the sandbag had come to hit Bubba straight between the eyes. The ox went down as if poleaxed, special-effect stars swimming around his head.**

 **"That's got to hurt," Mortimer commented. Then he scratched between his ears thoughtfully, thinking of momentum transfer and trajectories. Such things were essential course material at Acme Loo where so many falling anvils and ballistic pianos were involved on a daily basis. "I'm really not sure of the physics of how that worked."**

 **"It wasn't physics," Cassandra said. "I could see the psychic backlash from Henry's Instant Karma. That's his secret shtick."**

 **Mortimer frowned. "Bubba hates everyone, that's his thing. But he really, really hates Henry for some reason."**

 **"Oh, I know that one," Nootka said cheerfully. "Bubba's father served years on a committee against Un-American Activities; that kind of thing is inherited. And Bubba found out Henry's a sports star back home."**

 **A bunny blinked. "So?"**

 **"My sports are cricket and rugby," Henry shrugged, picking up the conversation as he returned. "Not those strange versions of Rounders and armoured rugby you have. Very un-American, I'm afraid. Can't help it."**

 **"Yesterday one of those Sons of Schlesinger was saying they might press charges against him," Nootka growled, the fox's ears pressed down flat on her head. "For, what was it? '** _ **Behaving in a gratuitously un-stereotypical manner in a public place in the hours of darkness**_ **.' That suit then tripped over one of Pete Puma's 'Danger wet floor' warning signs and bounced down three flights of concrete stairs - on his head."**

" **How we laughed!" Lucretia added brightly.**

 **"Instant karma, that which may not be denied" Cassandra nodded.**

 **"Well." Mortimer took a deep breath. "Someone has to play the villain. Do you mind, Henry? The Studio types will be watching; they sort of expect it from you."**

 **"Here, I'm used to it." Henry admitted. "Back home, I'm actually one of my town's Guitar Heroes. It's a non-stop battle over there with sinister Ukulele Villains."**

 **Nootka's eyes went strange for a few seconds, as if she had briefly gone into a trance. "It's vitally important Henry's in a leading role, for this," she said as she snapped out of it. "That's what my Arctic Inuition tells me."**

 **"I want to be the villainess!" Lucretia announced. "I look good in black." She grinned. "And if Mary-Sue's the heroine like the Studio wants, that way I get to beat on her."**

 **"We'll go with that," Mortimer said. "Everyone plays using their best talent."**

 **Marie-Sioux assumed a martyred expression. It was always the same, she inwardly sighed – her swarm of identical cousins had the same problem, even the futuristic one in deep space whose ongoing mission in life was to facilitate the starship's handsome Captain and austere Science Officer declaring their secret (and admittedly, completely hidden) true love for each other. That timeline's Marie-Sioux had been thrown into so many warp reactor cores, ravening alien carnivore nests and out of so many airlocks by her enraged fellow crewmembers that she had stopped counting her reincarnations.**

 **Mortimer scratched his head. "Well, Marie-Sioux, someone has to be the heroine. And your model sheet says you're designed that way."**

 **"Well," the human girl dropped her gaze modestly. "I have so many, many failings."**

 **"Such as? I thought you were meant to be perfect?" Lucretia's eyes narrowed.**

 **Marie-Sioux gave a modest sigh. "I have terrible, terrible food allergies, specially to balance my character. I'm deathly allergic to any foods containing Francium or Astatine."**

 **Gibson Goat's head-up display screen flickered as he pulled data off the Net. "Those elements hardly even exist, they're so rare. Unstable, too. So how do you know you're allergic?" he queried. "At any one time there's about an ounce of either, just random atoms scattered through the whole planet. Nobody's seen enough in one piece to even know what colour they are, even with a microscope."**

 **"And they're so radioactive that having food allergies to them is a bit redundant," Henry said, standing behind Gibson and kibitzing from his display. "They're bad news for anyone."**

 **"It's truly a great trial, but I try to bear up as nobly as I can, under it," Marie-Sioux said humbly.**

 **"Hey! Do a Sword and Sorcery show; she can go up against Bubba the Barbarian!" Lucretia suggested. "Maybe he wins, wielding his enchanted two-handed Sword of Pesticide (+6 to hit, + 8 Damage Bonus against Annoying Finks)… or maybe she annoys him to death. Maybe they take each other out simultaneously. I don't see any down-side to that."**

 **"Right. Yes. Moving on… what sort of show will we really be doing?" Gene Ericson asked, not unreasonably.**

 **"I remember my Sis Babs doing '** _ **Ducklahoma! The musical'**_ **for a class project", Mortimer mused. "That worked OK for them. But it's been done. Anyway, no ducks in our class."**

 **"Something like that kind of show, though, big and classy with musical numbers" Nootka said. "It's Winter, plenty of free snow and ice, could we use that? Not 'A Christmas Carol' though – that's been done too, and so often."**

 **"I vote Mortimer directs and produces it," Gene Ericson volunteered. "Rabbits are famous for producing."**

 **"Generally, for producing lots more rabbits," Nootka grinned, a sly expression on her muzzle. "But hey, why not shows too? He's got my vote."**

 **"Well, I'll try." Mortimer looked around for inspiration, when nobody objected. There was the shining frozen expanse of Lake Acme, as a huge (and free) dramatic backdrop. He had a record-breaking three techs in his team – Henry was as qualified as Gibson or Granville, but had to officially keep quiet about it. As the Studio had repeatedly told him, modern audiences only believed in foreign engineers with Scottish accents.**

" **Something using Nootka's background – and something we can fit Shelley into. And our technologists." He mused. Gene Ericsson could fit in anywhere. "And a Christmas theme." Suddenly a special-effect light appeared between his ears as the name 'Shelley' triggered an association. "Yes! We'll do – Mary Shelley's Frankenstein!"**

 **His class did a synchronised 'take', that would not have disgraced a Japanese Synchronised Mass Formation James Dean Impersonation club – though this was one of jaw-dropping amazement rather than a square full of identical rebels showing off their edgy individuality with a hundred authentic sneers timed to the split-second.**

 **Eventually Shelley's hesitant mental broadcast reached them.** _ **Is that a traditional Christmas show?**_

 **Mortimer grinned, the ideas coming thick and fast now. "It could be. The original book finishes at the North Pole, and that's guaranteed Christmas-y. Imagine it with a whole new seasonal twist – Frankenstein's Monster Mollusc – on ice!" He struck and held a triumphant pose, locked rigid in concentration. A special-effects bead of sweat ran down his muzzle.**

 **There was a long silence as every stare stayed locked on him. At last somebody spoke.**

" **We're really all quite doomed, you know," Cassandra said cheerfully.**

* * *

 **Only a brief tunnel-hike and airlock away from Mortimer's family burrow, Fifi and Rhubella were back in Acme Acres for the Winter, and renting the annexe to the Bunny family once again. As Babs' mother had confided to Rhubella, they had tried using it as a guest room, but the scent residues of a skunk living there had not made that a great success despite all their cleaning efforts. Currently the couple were relaxing on the sofa as the short Winter day outside drew to a close. Below ground all was warm and peaceful.**

 **Rhubella smiled wistfully, listening to the radio whose aerial poked out of the ground thirty feet above them. "I recognise this song! It's J-pop. When the self-styled leaders in Cool discovered J-Pop years ago, at Perfecto we were already well into K-Pop. Variola says they're now on L-Pop, but she's got a sneaking suspicion not everyone's on the same 'L'. "**

 **Fifi's muzzle wrinkled slightly, but she made no comment.**

" **She thinks it's from Laos, but anywhere from Livonia to Liberia's a contender. The more exotic and exclusive the better," Rhubella continued "And nobody dares ask – it's not safe to show ignorance or any sort of weakness there, or have folk find out you're ever wrong."**

 **"Zat place," Fifi sighed. "Now I know Perfecto zey 'ave ze sense of 'umour, aftair all. But any Toon finds out, ze joke eez generally on zem." She looked at her young cub nestled in Rhubella's lap. "Eef Gigi wishes, one day she may go zere. But I 'ope she does not."**

 **"We can afford it. And as it's a family tradition Mother could help, even if we couldn't. Seeing as she's pretty much keeping ACME in business, it's not amazing they give her a fat salary," Rhubella mused. "Just last week, she defeated a tricky lawsuit. From the family of someone whose car broke down in Alaska and depended on his folding ACME Emergency snow-shovel to dig him out of the drifts." She paused. "He was last seen frozen into an iceberg heading out across the Bering Strait, broken shovel still in paw."**

 **"I 'ave nevair understood why Toons zey still buy zat brand, aftair all Professor Coyote's experiences," Fifi shuddered. ACME themselves claimed what they may possibly have occasionally lacked in quality control, they more than made up for in world-beating delivery times. Plus, they offered their famous Lifetime Guarantee on every product – until it broke, when obviously its lifetime was over. "Mais – 'ow did zey get away with eet?"**

 **Rhubella gave an embarrassed grin. "It was guaranteed to work only as an Emergency snow-shovel. That blizzard was forecast two whole days ahead… so Mother successfully argued in court that it wasn't Emergency snow."**

 **Fifi rolled her eyes. "No wondair zey recruit lawyers from Perfecto." A line from her all-time favourite group DEVO ran through her head – '** _ **And so it is. A few are shepherds, and the rest are sheep.**_ **' It seemed that both ACME and Perfecto Prep believed that, and looked on the rest of the world as something to be profitably fleeced every year and eventually end up as mutton stew.**

 **A rat tail wriggled. Perfecto played many mind games as well as the more physical ones such as competitive group hazing; she had been the third year class champion at 'zero-sum games' which were good training for a legal (or borderline-legal) career. "You just have to read the fine print. Like last year's best seller – the ACME home nuclear fusion reactor kit. Everything it said on the packet was true, as far as it went. It said you could generate 'UP TO' enough energy to power your whole city. Which legally means, anything less than that, including none. And even Calamity agrees the instructions were right in theory – it'd start generating once you compressed and heated the tritium fuel enough. Like in the middle of the sun."**

 **"Calamity, 'e told me." Fifi said darkly. "But zat bicycle pump in ze kit was nevair going to work."**

 **"The instructions didn't exactly say it would. The pump was a free gift that just happened to be thrown in with each kit… it's not ACME's fault if Toons jump to conclusions." Rhubella said. "And some Toons believe that if something keeps failing you just have to try again, but harder. Not us."**

 **"** _ **Toil is stupid**_ **," Fifi quoted from the musical philosophers DEVO and their great words of eternal wisdom. Then her expression softened. "Eh, but you are away from all zat now. And we do not 'ave one single ACME product in ze 'ouse." She had made certain of that, remembering the national scandal with the ACME self-powered autonomous mincing machines. Hers had last been seen mincing off gaily down the street, escaping from the daily grind.**

 **Rhubella gave a wry smile, remembering Margot's tales of bizarrely amusing failures when using items from the ACME catalogue's adult supplement – but then, Margot liked that sort of thing, and occasionally played to lose. "Just as well, with cubs in the house." Fifi's black and white furred son Victor was a few months younger than his sister, and currently sleeping soundly in the next room.**

 **"Certainment. And now eet ees petite Gigi's feeding time." Fifi reminded her.**

 **Rhubella gently passed their daughter over to Fifi, who Unconcealed to feed her. "She's so beautiful," Rhubella sighed. "I'm glad she got your fur colour. She'd be special anyway, but purple skunks are so very rare."**

 **"Mais oui! My mothair and two of my cousins, zey are ze only others I 'ave seen," Fifi agreed. She looked at her wife knowingly. "And – when ozairs see us together – eet is ze proof zey cannot deny, zat petite Gigi is truly ours."**

 **"There is that," Rhubella nodded. "The storks really got it right." She watched Fifi's expression a little enviously as their daughter suckled. The classic Toon trope apparently linked stork deliveries and feeding-bottles, giving a girl no other biological option. "Makes you wonder just how the whole stork thing really works. You couldn't just ask those birds – I think they got the job because they're dumb enough they couldn't tell if they wanted to."**

 **"We do not ask ze questions, of zese things" Fifi said firmly. "Eeef eet eez not broken, do not try and fix eet. Did Calamity not tell you of ze Black Box business? Quelle disastair! We do not want zat to 'appen to ze storks."**

 **"I heard about it," Rhubella admitted. "The most famous widget ever – the Generic Black Box. You could use them as part of almost any gadget, worked like a miracle. Literally. Then someone tried to open one up and find out how it worked. Suddenly it didn't, and none of them ever worked again." They had been the greatest technical discovery to date by Acme Acres' little-talked-about Excessively_Technical College * who excelled at assembling widgets into gadgets.**

(Editor's note: their proud motto was "If it's Excessively Technical – it must be one of ours.")

 **"Even Calamity, when 'e found ze Theory of Everything, 'e could not remember 'ow zey truly worked, aftair." Fifi nodded. "And 'e 'as made ze revolutions in Science, with what 'e 'as kept."**

" **Not everything he's revealed made him popular with his colleagues, I know," Rhubella said. "Like that whole research team at the Suppercollider; they'd spent years hunting for the fabled secrets of Zero Point Energy. Not anymore, they don't."**

" **Calamity, 'e could not 'elp zem?" Fifi queried.**

" **Worse," Rhubella said, her tail twitching. "He proved their whole search was completely pointless."**

 **The purple skunkette snickered. "Zey did not see zat one coming."**

" **No. Not even with that telescope they've got for looking into the future, at the Suppercollider," Rhubella nodded. "The Supper-kaleidoscope."**

" **And thinking of supper…" While Fifi nursed their daughter, Rhubella got up and headed into the kitchen to prepare their meal. Her eyes scanned over the racks of fresh vegetables – onions, cabbage and garlic featured prominently, being full of the sulphur compounds so necessary for fuelling a skunk's distinctive scent glands. Although she had never made as much as a sandwich at Perfecto (where they had Michelin star chefs and priced accordingly) she had learned a lot in the past year, from Fifi and her family at the small chateau she had bought in France.**

 **Just then, there was a knock at the airlock door leading to the main burrow. Rhubella opened it, and smiled to see Babs' sister, Bonnie Clarice Bunny. "Bonnie! Pleased to see you!"**

 **Bonnie smiled back. The golden-furred rabbit wore her usual large round glasses, a white shirt that nicely showed off her curves, and a dark plaid knee-length skirt. Like all her family, apart from in the muddiest weather she went bare-pawed, showing off her adorable toes (a common family trait, despite what Babs said). "Hello! I've come to invite you to the party, Christmas Eve. It should be fun."**

" **Are you playing for us?" Rhubella asked. "You're world class on that violin."**

 **Bonnie nodded. "Mother likes all of us to play something. Babs is coming too; mostly she just played the Prima Donna," she deadpanned.**

 **Behind her, Rhubella heard Fifi a snort of laughter. "Zat is Babs, certainment!" Fifi agreed. "Yes, we would love to come, eh, Ruby?"**

" **I'll say!" Rhubella's tail swished. "It's been a while since we got out to a party." She cast an eye over to where Fifi was cradling their daughter in her arms.**

" **No need to worry about cub-sitting," Bonnie assured her. "There's another dozen cubs that cousins are bringing over; they can keep them company. We've got cub-sitting volunteers arranged all night, working in shifts. With a rabbit family, you're sure of plenty of relatives."**

" **Zen we shall certainment come!" Fifi nodded. "Eh – eet should be ze night to remember."**

* * *

 **Over on the far side of town, another pair of Acme Looniversity graduates were settling in for the evening. Calamity Coyote looked up from his computer array as Marcia entered, in from the snowy dark outside. Compared with a warm summer day on Mars, it was positively balmy.**

 _ **News from our friends and colleagues back in Akron at the SupperCollider**_ **, his sign read.** _ **Bookworm's researched a pioneering process for zinc-plating chocolate. Such a boon to Toon-kind. And**_ _ **Egghead Junior, he's finally developed an ocarina that can be played at up to eight hundred centigrade without losing tone or pitch! A great advancement for science**_ **.**

 **"It's cool that we've got these research jobs," Marcia Martian said. "Though – it's not what we'd planned, all those years at Acme Loo. Only half our class have had film careers."**

 _ **We did that one Government health commercial**_ **, Calamity's sign read. He shivered.** _ **I don't want any more like that….**_

 **"Neat-o flash-back, though!" Marcia said admiringly as the scene wavered and re-formed into a view of the far desert with dramatic mesas, rock arches and other famous pieces of arid landscape geology as a striking tribute to the background artist's skills.**

 _ **This is your cactus**_ **. A deep, rolling authoritarian voice seemed to come from the skies. The camera zoomed in to a collection of rounded, relatively inoffensive (apart from the spines) looking succulents.**

 _ **This is your coyote**_ **. A slightly spin-changed but recognisable Calamity was strolling happily through the desert, looking around for edibles. When he saw the cacti he stopped, his mouth watering visibly at the succulent feast.**

 **The next scene showed a wildly bristling coyote running madly through the desert in ever-decreasing circles, silently shrieking as if pursued by terrifying hallucinations and radiating yards-wide streaks of psychedelic colour all over the landscape until he collapsed, a burned-out monochrome husk of a Toon apparently drained forever of his natural hues.**

 _ **This is your coyote – on peyote. Just – don't**_ **. The voice boomed, while in a full horror-film special effect Calamity's form crumbled to dust and blew away in the desert wind.**

 **The very living Toon winced, as the flashback ended.** _ **Took me weeks to recover from that. The money wasn't worth it. I think I'm still a bit bleached, round the edges.**_

 **"Could be worse," Marcia sympathised. "The one TV spot I found, they had me playing a bacterium – in a bleach commercial! That didn't end happily for the bacteria."**

 **Calamity looked on as Marcia swallowed her daily pills, reminded of her health needs. Fortunately for her, on his last trip her Uncle Marvin had dropped off another year's supply of diet supplements. Martian chromoplasm had a very different chemistry to Earth Toons; Marcia needed Antimony and Vanadium salts to stay healthy, especially now she was a Type Eight. Earlier stages in the life cycle were less demanding of resources, which was indeed the point – the Martian race would endure even if only the spore-based Type 1s and 1A's survived, the higher forms reappearing when conditions could support them once more. Mars had once had hundreds of Queens, but back then had enough productive land for them (almost) all to carve out a Queendom wide enough for their pheromone signals not to overlap. Things got messy when that happened; not all the ancient craters on Mars came from meteorites.**

 _ **So – did Mary tell you about this big scheme she's signed up for, that Margot Mallard hatched?**_ **His sign read. Marcia had spent the day over at Mary's house, the two under-used bit-part characters having much in common.**

 **"Sure thing, daddy-o," Marcia nodded. "Mary's Queen of Phobos, which everyone thought meant Queen of next to zero. But these digital days – well, everything's zeroes and ones, dig? Meaning when you've got all the zeroes, you've got half of everything."**

 _ **And so?**_ **The coyote queried.**

 **"Phobos has a Green Age communications relay, you can jive with Earth from there. Queen Tiranee's had it fixed, the first time it's worked since your Dinosaurs were cruising the scene. You Earth Toons have these strange things you call 'offshore banks' Mary told me about. She's going to register one there."**

 _ **Yes. And they're not only offshore on islands. It's not my thing, but I know little places like LiechtensToon have huge chunks of the world's money held anonymously. You don't have to go there in person any more to hand over cash to the teller – just have a bank registered there and digitally transfer…**_ **The coyote's sign went blank for a second, while his eyes did a fruit-machine 'Take' and settled as a pair of glowing dollar-signs** _ **. Phobos! It'd be the ultimate in off-shore! And nobody on Earth could touch it! It'd even beat LiechtensToon.**_ **For years, LiechtensToon had been forcibly told to hand its anonymously held money back so its foreign customers' Governments could take their rightful cut as taxes – at which the plucky little nation had responded with an eloquent hand gesture. Currently several Intercontinental Ballistic Anvils were sitting in their silos beneath Kansas targeted on the little Dukedom's fair fields, impatiently awaiting the launch signal. Their target was a narrow nation only a few miles across – despite what fashionistas had said for years, evidently you really could be too rich and too thin.**

 **"That's what Margot said," Marcia confirmed. "She's from Perfecto; when she heard Mary was a registered Queen with her own sovereign territory she saw the potential deal right away."**

 _ **A bank registered on Phobos. That's a place even President Hitcher couldn't turn up and give some of his 'hands-on negotiations' like he did to the Bahamas banks**_ **, Calamity shuddered at the memory of that extremely messy TV report of the President's 'working vacation'** _ **. It's amazing he finished that weekend with the same axe he started, even if he did wear out three axe heads and two handles.**_

 **"Besides, even if he did, the joint's empty. Nobody home," Marcia said. "And Queen Tyrannee can replace any hacked-up hardware easy enough. It's a cool scheme."**

 _ **That moon is cool, all right, about ten Kelvin,**_ **Calamity confirmed.** _ **Just needs a computer to run the bank through the data link, solar cells for power and no trouble cooling it!**_ _ **Not a great spot for an after-office bank party though – there's really no atmosphere**_ **.**

 **"It explains why Colonel Fenix asked us to enquire." Marcia said, relieved. "So, that is over."**

 **Calamity blinked, his brain working fast. High (and indeed high orbital) finances were not his area of expertise, but some things seemed clear enough to him.**

 _ **Oh, no**_ **. His sign read, as his ears drooped.** _ **This hasn't even started. We've found the Queen of Phobos, and we've found what the key is, to the 'huge wealth and power' she could get hold of. That's got to come from somewhere.**_ **He paused.** _ **What would happen if a malfunctioning ACME teleporter dropped – say, Lake Michigan, into one of the dry craters of Mars**_ **?**

 **Marcia's eyes went wide. "Queen Tyranee's treasury contains nearly three hundred tons of ice bullion, some of it millions of your Earth years old. That regulates the trading on our whole planet. Ice would become worthless! And hundreds of Type Seven Martians like I was would be diving into the pool, breaking their pheromone constraints, hoping to become Queen Type Eights! Our ancient society would collapse. It would be a disaster for Mars!"**

 **Calamity nodded grimly.** _ **Different setup for Earth, but – same kind of result.**_

 **Marcia blinked. "But Mary's not like that. She would not do such a thing."**

 _ **No? Maybe she wouldn't want to.**_ **The Coyote's ears went right down.** _ **But it was Margot Mallard's idea. Mary said. What about her? She's pretty ruthless.**_ **He had researched and discovered there was not a single person called Ruth recorded in her whole family.**

 **Marcia's complexion stayed hole-in-the-film-black as ever. But as the space around her took on a special-effects bleached appearance, it was clear she was doing a Martian's very best attempt at turning pale.**

* * *

 **Far from Acme Acres, in the coastal city whose twin an exiled Shirley had known as Los Diablos, Hiram K Hackensaw was sitting in a luxurious executive chair, chairing a meeting of luxurious executives. The red wolf was not happy. This was nothing unusual. Just as Duck Trek's surly and brow-wrinkled species of humanoid aliens had their default phrase of "belHa'!", Mr. Hackensaw too had no particular need for a firm reason to be permanently displeased.**

 **"And another thing," he barked at his aide, a plump peccary "Why are they building that metalworking factory right next door? This part of town is all film studios!"**

 **"Sir..." the aide shuffled his notes. "Apparently they've run tests all over the city. This is the best place they've found to treat and finish High Dourness Steel. Apparently it's very sensitive to ambience when it's forged." The extra-grim alloy was used in various roles in both the Defence and Assault industries.**

 **"Well, if it's business…." Hiram nodded a grudging assent. Suddenly his ears went down again as he scanned his calendar. "Two days' time – we're heading back to Acme Acres. See what sort of a fool show they're putting on." He tapped a newspaper. "That place is way behind the times, with all that 'comedy' stuff. Look, the Government is already banning research into Human clowning!"**

 **The aide looked over at the headline. "Umm… Sir? That says '** _ **Human cloning**_ **.'"**

 **Hiram snorted. "I think you'll find that's just a typo. And if humans can't be funny, there'll be no demand for anyone else learning to be, either. We don't waste Studio money like that. I think I'll bring the whole of the Brotherhood along to see just what kind of a mess they're making of Acme Looniversity."**

 **"And if we don't like what we see?" The aide prompted him. "They're allowed to do most things for educational experience – their charter says so, it's written on their Dramatic license."**

 **Hiram K. Hackensaw smiled, but it was not a pretty sight. "Then, boy, we gonna go take that fancy Dramatic Licence right off of them - and we gonna tear it up."**

 **[Second commercial break]**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 **December the twenty-third dawned clear and chill over Acme Acres. All around town, younger Toons looked longingly at the Christmas trees, thinking of the fun they would have on the big day, playing with their new presents – old family favourites like jigsaws had been selling well that year. The fashionable '** _ **President Hitcher in the White House'**_ **design jigsaw was cordless and came with half a dozen spare blades.**

 **Heading towards Lake Acme from his family burrow, a young purple-furred buck in a baseball cap stopped to examine the grand designs of a pavement artist, and wondered how he had managed to get quite decent watercolour effects just using chalk on concrete. Mortimer fished in his Hammerspace pocket and pulled out a quarter, which he tossed into the street artist's cap. "Pretty good pictures!" He nodded, walking on.**

 **The artist, a moody, whiskered young canine with deep, intense eyes, gathered up his cap and the sheaf of imposing architectural drawings in neo-classical style. "It is time I returned to politics," he grumbled to himself, heading back towards town and Acme Acres' one and only authentic Bier Keller. He was sure modern America would appreciate hearing his message, when putsch came to shove.**

 **Mortimer walked on, savouring the bright morning sunlight and the frost-sparkling landscape. He stopped and frowned, scratching his head as he saw an ambulance parked outside a house with a couple of avian traffic wardens grinning fiendishly as they wheel-clamped it. "That is SO wrong," he declared to the empty landscape.**

 **In the Looniversity boathouse everyone was assembled, and busy learning their parts. The boathouse was the one structure that was both partly indoors, with lighting and some protection from the elements (even Astatine and Francium) and with a frozen floor for practicing ice-skating moves.**

 **"Hidy, Mortimer!" Nootka called. "You're the last one in. We're just waiting for Professor Sam; he's dropping off the keys to the Props warehouse."**

" **I wonder what's keeping him?" Mortimer asked. "He said he was going to help."**

 **"I prophecy he's been stuck in traffic," Cassandra intoned. "Right behind an impatient jet dragster driver who kept blipping the afterburner on and off awaiting the green light. Then slammed the throttles to the firewall and blasted off the line on ten yards of shock-diamond laced supersonic exhaust flame".**

 **"Now, that's just silly," Mortimer objected. "This is Acme Acres, not Henry's local speedway at Santa Pod!" How European jet drag racing had acquired its own official, Vatican-approved Patron Saint was quite a story. ***

 *** (Editor's note: and one that was, unfortunately, ranked as 11.4% too funny to be included here.)**

 **"Prophecy cannot be denied," Cassandra said loftily.**

 **Just then, a rather scorched tutor staggered in, the desperado's whiskers smouldering. He stank of burned jet fuel. "Don't any of you mangy varmints dare ask," Professor Sam snarled. "Ah'm a warnin' you. Just – don't even ask."**

 **"Kismet," Cassandra whispered smugly.**

 **"Back home that's the name of the local Indian Restaurant," came Henry Smith's non sequitur.**

 **Professor Sam threw a set of keys down on the table. "Them's the warehouse keys. Any props you fool critters need for your show, you check them out and sign for proper-ways. Any gets damaged, I'll have your hides." His charred moustache bristled – "And if you dare lose them keys… I'll make ya eat them!" With that, he stumped out, leaving a reek of borane 'Zip fuel'.**

 **"You know, that was pretty friendly, for him," Mortimer murmured, as the door slammed loudly behind their departing tutor. "The staff must be worried too."**

 **Henry Smith tapped a thick sheaf of papers he had been reading through. "This Christmas Musical of yours looks good. I've been reading through it."**

" **It's quite a script," Lucretia marvelled. "It's got everything. Pathos, Bathos, Aramis and D'Artagnian too!"**

 **"Professor Bugs dropped by, he had a whole sheaf of the Directives the Studio's given him over the years," Mortimer said. "He thought I might get some inspiration. And use everyone's particular talents to the best." Their Principal had pointed out some particular Studio rules that he thought Mortimer would do well to look hard at.**

 **Marie-Sioux smiled sweetly. "I do hope you took their good advice." She sighed wistfully. "It's only our dear Studio's having a Social Inclusion Policy that let me even attend Acme Looniversity. Writers used to be so prejudiced about my family – as well as my brother Gary-Stu and all my identical cousins Marty-Stu. It used to be thought insulting to even claim a writer had involved us in a story."**

 **"Act One, Scene One… we see Mary-Sue standing on the ice, gratuitously simpering," Lucretia declaimed. "Unseen underwater, the heroine Shelley has modified one of her tooth-like toxin darts into the saw blade that's slowly cutting a circle of ice from around the annoying fink's non-adorable toes… Exit one Mary-Sue, stage downwards. Next scene, a highly educational display of engulfing and digestion by giant mollusc in slow motion; Discovery Channel are envious and offer us good contracts to do it as a live show."**

 **"I didn't write that!" Mortimer protested "It's meant to be a comedy."**

 **"I'd laugh," Lucretia said brightly.**

 **Mortimer cleared his throat. "Before we start – Cassie, we could really use some prophecy here. What's the best way of getting this show so good the Sons of Schlesinger won't complain and close Acme Loo down?"**

 **The bloodhound looked mournfully at him. "You know it doesn't work like that. I just hold the subject of prophecy in mind, open a channel to the Infinite, and I get what I get."**

 **"Generally Doom. Cassie here likes a nice bit of Doom, and I don't mean the old computer game," Lucretia said. "And she has a good line in Woe, she can get it for you wholesale. Woe-sale, even."**

 **The rabbit shrugged. "Well, either way, let's hear it."**

 **Cassandra Bloode drew herself up to her full height, amulets jingling, and concentrated. The unearthly special-effects blue light shone out of her eyes, which then rolled back into her head. After a minute she spoke, in a deep, echoing voice** _ **:**_

 _ **"Woe! Woe to those who seek to still the laughter. Yet strong are they and many.**_

 _ **And how may they be overthrown, before their plans be final?**_

 _ **The heavens own alone that power, they who act not causeless."**_

 **The blue light faded, and Casandra sat down heavily, panting for breath as if she had run half a mile.**

 **"Well, I think we're looking at another Grade A in vague, opaque prophecy right there," Lucretia said, impressed. "I only hope the Looniversity's around long enough to award it. According to Cassie's first prophecy about them, these Sons of Schlesinger are going to rise forever** _ **, like shining stars over the land**_ **."**

 **Mortimer scratched his head-fur. "It's going to take, what did they used to call it, a 'Deus ex Machina' to save us? Someone has to offend a Deity who'll then take spectacular revenge on screen? Not good news."**

 **"Having to rely on an actual, live on-camera Divine Intervention is never a good sign," Cassandra agreed. "We're up to our ears in Doom, I just know it."**

 **Marie-Sioux cast them all a simpering smile. "It just goes to show our dear Studio knows best, you know. Some things are just meant to be."**

 **Mortimer sighed. Then he straightened up, taking hold of the script he had penned off-camera in a high-speed flurry of whirling papers rather like a creative version of a Tasmanian Devil's destructive whirlwind. "We'll do what we can, and let what happens happen." Professor Coyote had mentioned in Toon Physics class that particularly deranged scientists were probing not just beyond the fourth dimension, but what some were starting to call 'the fourth wall.' He handed out copies to his waiting classmates.**

 **"I see you've got speaking parts for all of us – except one," Gene Ericson noted, after a fast flick through '** _ **Frankenstein's Monster Mollusc on Ice'**_ **. "Bubba as one of the Concerned Citizens who turn up with pitchforks and blazing torches in the final scene – and finds out about all the traps. Messy."**

" **Well, Bubba doesn't exactly make himself popular," Lucretia smiled. "Remember in our first term? When he went on about Henry having to call American Football just football? Henry got his own back. Engineered that bogus 'business opportunity' Bubba fell for and put all his money into. Thinking he'd beaten Henry to a fortune."**

 **"I remember. Bubba buying German Silver for only half the price of ordinary American silver," Mortimer nodded. "What's wrong with that? Sounds like a good deal, wherever you get it from."**

 **Gibson Goat's screen flickered as the cyberpunk pulled down data. The caprine gave a quiet cough. "What they call 'German Silver' isn't real silver at all – it's nickel/copper, almost worthless next to the real sort. But legally that's what they call it. Bubba might have checked, before paying twenty times its value."**

 **"Bubba checking? Using his brain? That's not a brute-force solution. Not his trope at all," Lucretia mused. With that, the Toons picked up their scripts and started rehearsing. The hours passed.**

 **Suddenly Mortimer heard his stomach growl embarrassingly loud: looking at the wall clock he noticed it was past noon already. "Break time, folks! Take an hour out – come back fresh after lunch." Suddenly he frowned, remembering having left home in such excitement he had forgotten to pack his usual carrot-based lunchbox. "But where can we eat around here? We're the wrong side of town for the Marina Mall."**

 **Nootka considered, "There's that place your sister used to go to – Weenie-Burger, that's not far."**

 **Mortimer's ears went down. "I don't go there."**

 **Beside him, Shelley nodded her bulk in agreement** _ **. It's one of the memes I picked up – you don't go to the places your older brothers and sisters hang out.**_

 **"Babs probably won't be there today, though," Nootka argued. "Didn't you say it was where her crowd went to when they were at Looniversity? They're not now. Haven't been for a year and more."**

 **"True. And I hear it's cheap enough. This way." With that, Mortimer led the way a quarter mile through the snowy streets to where a garish diner flickered in the light of its neon advertising signs.**

 **Henry Smith looked hard at Weenie-Burger's main sign outside the diner, a yellowish-glowing 'W' of peculiarly cursive shape, like two inverted arches. He frowned. "Imagine that was upside-down. Doesn't that remind you of something?"**

 **Mortimer looked hard for a few seconds. The bunny blinked, and shook his head. "No… can't say that it does. Why?"**

 **"Ohh… nothing." Henry deadpanned. "We can hope they've inverted all some other place's food standards." He paused. "But not hope… very much." Fleetingly he remembered his school dinners back home, with the peculiarly glowing weaponised cabbage that was only transported and served in narrow, water-cooled containers with labels carrying dire warnings against assembling more than five helpings worth in anything near a spherical geometry.**

 _ **You mammal Toons have to eat so much!**_ **Shelley marvelled, sliding above the slush on her anti-gravity sledge.** _ **Three times a day! Not three times a week like my family**_ **. She paused, her stinging tentacle waving distractedly.** _ **But then, so much – happens up here, and so fast. Such a high-energy place. Back home, resolving even minor plotlines takes centuries.**_

 **"It must be a bit different – getting fast food, compared to taking a week to drill through your prey's yard-thick shell," Lucretia said. "Or maybe Weenie Burger's embraced that trendy Slow Food Revolution by now – the food's no better but it costs extra and takes ages."**

 **Mortimer looked around. There were a dozen or so Toons '** _ **Enjoying the Weenie-Burger price-friendly fine dining experience'**_ **to quote the posters on the walls, but nobody he recognised. At one table in the corner an expensively dressed rat girl and a slightly shabby skunkette were sitting close together, talking quietly and holding paws. "Nobody in from Acme Loo or Perfecto today, looks like." Though Weenie-Burger was basic by even the least discerning standards, he had heard Babs mention that Perfectos with a taste for extreme slumming often swept by to practice their sneering at the menu and clientele. "Just as well."**

 **"No? That rat's carrying a Perfecto T-pad under her coat," Gibson noted. "I can feel the customised 2048-bit encryption Perfecto use, on its wireless signal. And they're paw-print activated so only their Perfecto owners can use them." He looked across smugly to Granville. "Beat that, clockwork-fan!"**

 **"Certainly," Granville nodded. "She's not just Perfecto, but a current second-year of the elite stream, rather than a Sports Scholar. She's wearing a Blood Diamond class ring, a trope unique to that ruling clique. I've published a craftsman-printed monograph on Perfecto styles – as it's not online, I doubt you'll have ever read it." He took a second glance at the pair, his nose twitching. "And her friend is considerably poorer, wearing entirely second-paw clothing – even her shoes. She works with industrial floor soap; the scent is unmistakeable. You data-crunch, my dear Gibson, but you do not observe." His pneumatic-powered bowler hat tipped in a mocking salute.**

 **Mortimer sighed, stepping between the steampunk and the cyberpunk. "Time out! Lunch break! Let's see what's on the menu."**

 **"A fine range of new and reconditioned meals, by reputation," Lucretia murmured. She had heard that a coyote scientist in a class now graduated had tested the food for natural ingredients, and instead found additives so unnatural that the very particles they were made from had no place in either Earth or Martian scientists' Standard Model.**

 **Nootka frowned, reading the fine print. "This is weird. The 'Classic Weenie Burger' and 'Classic Weenie Dog' are labelled as vegan – but the salads aren't." She waved the menu, flagging down a spotty human Toon in the diner's livery. "Hey! How come there's no meat in the burger and hot dog?"**

 **The drudge sighed, closed his eyes and recited what was obviously a scripted corporate mantra. "** _ **To enhance the customer value dining experience, cost-ineffective mechanically recovered meat has been replaced by more affordable, chemically reclaimed Tofu by-products**_ **," he chanted.**

 **"Yes, but what about the salads?" Nootka asked.**

 **The drudge turned a jaundiced eye on her. "Vegetables are expensive. They had to use meat instead."**

 **Henry Smith was reading a brochure taped to the back of the menu. "Salad ingredients; partially de-rancified reclaimed pork lard, artificial dietary fibre (100% recycled mixed plastics), artificial cabbage aroma, colouring, texture and flavour. Contains permitted satiety suppressants."**

 **Mortimer winced, scanning the menu in quest of something borderline edible. Unfortunately, the borderline seemed to be about a hundred yards outside the building. "They've got plain corn bread; I guess that's hard to spoil. I'll try that."**

 **"Corn pone? You'll go down with acute third-stage terminal pellagra before you've finished it, then we'll all catch it off you," Cassandra prophesied gloomily. "I expect the grits are the sort of grits they use on sandpaper, too."**

 _ **You surface-dwellers have such a rich cuisine!**_ **Shelley's telepathic voice marvelled.** _ **Back home we don't have ingredients. Just prey.**_ **She looked at the employee hungrily, her stinging tentacle waving nonchalantly. A glitter of glass-like biological silica at the tip showed it was armed, customised with one or more of the hundred or so cone shell toxins she could mix at will.**

 **Lucretia grinned at the hapless employee. "Hey! I'm not saying we could use some service here but… just you ought to know, Shelley here can sting Toons paralysed but still conscious; she's got a whole juke box of real interesting toxins to play with. And her radix can drill through a coconut in five seconds flat and devour the insides like you wouldn't believe. Yes, that's your head she's looking at." She paused, an eyebrow raised. "So what's it going to be – bring lunch, or BE lunch?"**

 _ **Not that I'd do something like that**_ **, Shelley's telepathic tones were mild reproof. She paused, her rasp-tipped drilling tentacle slithering out from under her shell.** _ **Not unless I was really hungry, of course.**_

 **"Of course not," Lucretia deadpanned. "You're a Good Girl. Isn't she, Morty?"**

 **Mortimer's ears blushed. "It's one of the Tropes she's picked up. Along with Girl Next Door, Country Cousin, and a whole bunch that sort of bundle together." Apparently, the physical shape of a Toon had little bearing on what Tropes they ran – he remembered Babs listing her tiny pink canary classmate Sweetie Bird as majoring in Combat Monster and Mean Machine. "Good thing she's got the Cast-Iron Stomach skill."**

 **"Ah, so useful at Weenie-Burger," Lucretia gave a theatrical sigh. "That great bastion of American fine-dining."**

 **Henry Smith scratched his head. "Back home, a bastion is the side of a fortress, part of the defences," he offered.**

 **A small mouse showed a large and evil grin. "Sure! Same here! They put up Weenie-Burger franchises right next to any frontier we want to guard, with big signs saying '** _ **America's Finest Dining**_ **!' You can always see some poor schmuck running out of one screaming and retching, heading straight back to where they came from with a sudden nostalgia for home-style famine. And this way we keep all their money, too. It's an old tradition!"**

 **Henry looked at the menu hard before following Mortimer in ordering the Corn Pone. According to the small print on the menu it was now '** _ **Corn free but Pone Enriched**_ **.' He winced slightly, consoling himself he had in his rooms a freshly arrived care package sent from his family with some decent tea, proper tinned pies and a bottle of brown HP sauce. "Home of the Brave. As in, 'You-gotta-be-brave-to-eat here.'"**

* * *

 **A few miles across Lake ACME, another lunch was being rather more appreciated. Mary Melody sat at her dining-room table with Marcia Martian and Calamity Coyote, while her husbands busied themselves in the kitchen.**

 **Calamity's keen nose twitched.** _ **That Chilli smells great – and none too chilly!**_ **His sign remarked, as he tried not to drool.**

 **Mary smiled. "I hope you like it. I'm lucky, finding not one but two husbands who really can cook."**

 **"They are equines – do they eat meat, as in Chilli con carne?" Marcia asked. Although current Martian food was technically food substitute, the language retained many ancient words from when the cuisine had been more luxurious.**

 **"No – this version's more '** _ **Chilli sin Carne'**_ **. But I'm sure you didn't come over here just for the haute-spiciness cuisine," Mary said, her voice level as she looked at the two researchers.**

 **Calamity nodded slowly, sitting back in his chair and looking appraisingly at the humanmare. Mary Melody wore a knee-length denim skirt and a loose white shirt that went nicely with her dark complexion.** _ **This Phobos scheme you and Margot Mallard cooked up – are you going ahead with it?**_

 **Mary nodded, determinedly. "I've looked at it from every angle, I think – and Margot's set her lawyers on the case. It looks like it'll work well."**

 **Calamity's ears went down** _ **. For you, maybe. And I know you need money, with cubs to think about now.**_ **His eyes flicked to the playpen in the corner where little Jenny was fast asleep** _ **. But you've been – noticed, officially. And I don't think some furs in WashingToon are going to like it. As the old curse went…**_ **. His sign changed into the mock-oriental typeface often seen on Chinese restaurants** _ **May you attract the attention of those in power, and live in Interesting Times.**_

 **Mary frowned. "We're all Martian Citizens now, same as Marcia. Jenny has dual nationality. And being Queen of Phobos, I've got Diplomatic Immunity."**

 _ **I hope your Diplomatic Immunity shots are up to date**_ **, Calamity's sign read in a worried-looking font.** _ **You may need them.**_

 **"It was Shirley's boss, Colonel Fenix, asked us to find the Queen of Phobos. Some high-up Toons think she's shaping to be a major threat to this world," Marcia said. "Which means you. We didn't think it'd be someone so close to home." She paused, her eyes roving around the room, taking in various family photographs. "Some of your family were in the military? Then you know how it is. He's got to jive with his orders, even if he doesn't maybe like them."**

 **"Who?" Mary blinked, then followed Marcia's gaze to the shelf. She carefully took down a sepia photograph of a handsome dark-skinned human Toon in an impeccable uniform, standing proudly next to a Pullman carriage at a station. "Oh. My great-grandfather! No, he was a carriage attendant in the 1920's and 30's, worked on the luxury trains they had then. His name was Wilbur, but everyone in that job was called 'George' at work. * I supposed it was easier for the passengers to remember." She smiled, remembering some of the family stories. It had not been unknown on night routes for a lady passenger to quietly request first-class 'room service' that left the discreet attendant with a very worthwhile tip in the morning. As it was socially unthinkable at the time, nobody had thought anything about it.**

 *** (Editor's note: provoking one of the early consumer protest groups, the 'Society for the Prevention of Calling Sleeping Car Porters 'George'.' Yes, really.)**

 **"My 'Uncle' Marvin made several attempts to disintegrate the Earth's structure, back in the sidereal day," Marcia said darkly. "It might be your scheme collapses its economy. Colonel Fenix may… get orders to prevent that."**

 **"It won't come to that," Mary said, frowning. "Margot has thought this through; she expected WashingToon to notice, and she has a plan. That's one devious duck, you know. Pure Perfecto."**

 _ **But**_ **n** _ **ot pure duck, or even pure avian**_ **, Calamity's sign indicated** _ **. She has mammal ancestry somewhere along the germ-line.**_

 **"I know. It… stands out. We've talked about it." Mary's blush radiated an inch clear of her body. "She thinks it's human chromoplasm she inherited; she's tailless and there aren't many mammals like that. Whoever her family got it from, it happened in the 1920's to her great-grandmother Miss Maisie Mallard. She came back from holiday with an unexpected egg on the way. And Margot says she travelled on luxury trains and partied an awful lot, before the Wall Street Crash."**

 _ **It was the 1920's, and she was an avian party girl? What they called a flapper?**_ **Calamity's sign read.** _ **Flapping sounds appropriate, for a duck.**_

" **When I showed Margot my family photos, she even had this wild notion…" Mary looked down at the old photograph, shaking her head. "I mean, what's the possibility of that? Us being related?"**

 _ **With any two Toons picked at random and so many years between them,**_ **y** _ **ou'd guess it's millions to one**_ **, Calamity indicated.** _ **But… remember our Toon Math classes?**_

 **"I scored a B in that, mostly. Not my best subject," Mary reminisced. "But yes, I remember – '** _ **million-to-one chances attract million-to-one solutions**_ **.' So – in that case…" Margot had mentioned dating a swan and a rat at Perfecto, Mary reflected; she might have inherited her adventurous nature along with her mammal features. "She was feeding three ducklings when I called - I noticed she's very dark-skinned, all her… non-avian parts, so I suppose it's not really impossible. If so – our project is a traditional family owned bank, with me and a really remote cousin. With feathers."**

 **"Earth genetics." Marcia shook her head in bafflement. "And you say ours are strange! We do not have known ancestors. As a Type Six B I picked up and stored viable spores drifting on the winds, some may have been centuries old." She looked over at Calamity, and smiled unseen. A Queen type Martian required the stimulus of a Consort to breed, but their Consort's chromoplasm would not be involved.**

 _ **One species with four main types and seventeen sexes, versus many species with two genders apiece. The complexity works out about the same**_ **, Calamity's sign read, after half a minute's calculation.** _ **Though your people do with pheromones what we do with laws and traditions.**_

 **Mary nodded, remembering her time on Mars. "At least our memes are compatible. Though that's not always a good thing. Queen Tiranee radios me every day. I think she's lonely now."**

 **"Lonely? That's entirely an Earth word," Marcia scoffed. "There is no such concept for a Martian Type Eight – she is surrounded by her subjects at all times, part of her city, pheromone linked to her whole population! It would be like a fish at the bottom of one of your oceans complaining of feeling thirsty!"**

 **"I'm sure it's something new, for her. A meme she caught off us." Mary paused, contemplating. "She'd never talked to another Queen type before, but we talked for hours every day over there. Technically I'm a Queen, but without the biology problems she'd have getting close to a real one. I'm not going to open pheromone glands and steal her subjects from her."**

 **"There's ten-mile crater just South of Olympus Mons, where the last rival Martian Queen – lost," Marcia said flatly. "Yes, there'd be problems, fer sure."**

 **"And she misses Jaggi and Jack, I know." Mary bowed her head slightly, blushing. "Well, I can quite understand that. I… lent them to her for three months. And after that – the idea of never doing anything like it again – I know it'd depress me."**

 **Marcia flashed Calamity an embarrassed look. Only Queen type Martians' biology corresponded exactly with Earth females, through a staggering piece of Convergent Evolution that the baffled biologists of two worlds had officially declared 'was just one of those things.' No life-stage of Martian was any close equivalent of an Earth male. "This is what in our Scriptwriting classes the Tutor would call 'way too contrived.'"**

 _ **But there it is**_ **, Calamity's sign read. The coyote shrugged.** _ **So, Mary, are you really going ahead with this Phobos bank scheme?**_

 **Mary Melody looked around her home, and drew herself up regally as befitted a Queen, even one ruling a lifeless rock. "Yes, I am," she said firmly. "And you can tell Colonel Fenix that from me."**

* * *

 **December the twenty-third stayed bright and chill. In the cold, still afternoon the forests around Mount Acme were free of low-flying air traffic – except for three figures, birds on the wing who most naturalists might think had ill-timed their Autumn migration to be still around in the snows of December.**

 **"Behold! This is how you do it, kiddies!" Plucky Duck struck a heroic pose in the skies, his cape streaming behind him, part of his worn and shabby super-hero outfit. "Behold the Toxic Revenger! Protector of the environment! Punisher of the polluters! Gosh, the memories." He wiped a dramatic tear from his eye, and pointed down towards the frozen Lake Acme. "It was right there I defeated the evil tycoon what's his-name, Delaware Dork or something like that. An epic battle that was, but the villain could not stand against my righteous eco-warrior wrath!"**

 **"Yes, Daddy," Candi nodded, as she and Brandi made careful mental notes. She and her sister flew on their wings, not by the super-hero shtick their father used, although their psychic talents could see exactly how he did it. "You stop people harming the Earth."**

 **"Earth, swamp, water – wet or dry, I guarded it all! Saviour of Nature, that's me!" Plucky said proudly, spluttering slightly as a stray gust wrapped his cape around his head. Disentangling himself, he beamed affectionately at his daughters. "Say! If you don't want to be movie stars when you grow up, why not do that instead?" With good enough costumes and a spectacular enough line in smiting, he reflected happily, they could end up as film stars regardless. The Media always liked to see a suitably photogenic character pummelling someone less popular, especially if there was some sort of excuse to do so.**

 **"Yes. We go put things right." Brandi agreed. "Everybody who hurts the earth, we go stop them. For good."**

 **"A force for good. That's my girls," Plucky said fondly. "And how could you not be? With eco-warrior chromoplasm from both sides of the family." He winced slightly, remembering sharing a reed nest out in the swamps with Shirley, a long way from mains electricity and hot running water. She had wanted her eggs raised as 'part of the ecosystem' – and then banished them to exile on a parallel time-line where they had no choice in the matter** _ **. Us all ending up as snacks for a sabre-tooth tiger, that would have been 'part of the ecosystem' too**_ **, he thought bitterly.**

 **They flew on. At the edge of Acme Acres there was a new road being built, though construction work had paused for the holidays. Two small loons exchanged glances. "Looks bad. We go down and see, Daddy?" Brandi asked.**

 **"Sure, sweetie," Plucky nodded. The three landed in the half-finished road cutting, and looked around. Plucky brushed the snow off a notice, and pointed up at the plans shown. "It's the new airport relief road for the old airport relief road. Should save commuters two vital minutes at rush-hour. How about that?"**

 **Two small brows furrowed. Brandi and Candi's senses ranged forwards along the line of construction works, seeing gouged earth, ripped-out tree-stumps and turf piled up to die. They spent a long minute looking, then exchanged a significant nod. "We understand, Daddy. Now we go home?" Candi asked.**

 **"Sure! There'll be hot chocolate and cookies in the house, all ready for you if you want to come in." Plucky's mind was already dwelling on mulled wine and mince pies by the fireside as the three took off and headed back towards the Crowninshield mansion. He cast a loving glance back at his daughters, flying effortlessly in formation behind him – they were sweet girls, he thought, and if they were a little strange – well, being brought up deprived of TV and consumer goods would surely do that to you. They had never once cried, even as new-hatched chicks – and for that matter, they had never laughed. He blamed a childhood lack of quality comedy shows, or indeed any programs with proper studio laugh tracks to give them the idea.**

 **Plucky frowned as he flew homewards over the darkening land. It had been hard for him when the chicks were young, not being able to give his daughters treats like chocolate or ice-cream – what kind of kid had never had an ice-cream? And now it was too late; their tastes had been so deprived they only liked wilderness style food, fresh-caught. That anyone could prefer a raw fish over a triple-stuffed crust, Immature Radioactive Samurai Slugs ™ own-brand chocolate pizza… he shook his head. Shirley had much to answer for.**

 **Behind him, Brandi and Candi concentrated hard on their plan.** _ **We stop people doing things like that. Ever again,**_ **Brandi narrow-cast, looking back at the scar on the landscape of the road project.**

 _ **It'll take a big spell. The biggest ever**_ **, Candi stated emotionlessly** _ **. Like some of the ones in Grandma's big old books.**_

 _ **Yes. We'll need all the power we can get. Just to open the doorways we need. The people outside will help.**_ **Brandi agreed. Both chicks calculated rapidly.** _ **When we cast that big spell on Mother's arrow, we pulled the power down those metal lines. It only just fit.**_ **She cast a thought towards a distant row of high-tension power lines.**

 _ **If we made the lines really cold, it'd fit better**_ **. Candi agreed. She had spent days looking hard at electricity with her skills – without needing to do the math, she could instinctively feel how it flowed, and how it would flow freely if the lines were as cold as anything could ever get. She did not know the word 'superconductor' or the concept 'absolute zero' but she could feel their potential.** _ **So we'll do that first. Then pull all the power there is. From everywhere. It's all joined up.**_ **She envisaged the world circled with power lines, each nation's supplies linked to all the others.**

 **Three avians flew home with the fading light – one with his thoughts on roaring fires and hot chocolate, and the other two with thoughts immeasurably colder.**

* * *

 **The fading light saw Unit Four Plus Two assembled in their downtown headquarters, the army surplus shop now apparently closed for business. They had had a busy day with the usual problems – a band of Meddling Kids ™ had reported what they thought was a fake phantom haunting the abandoned ski lodge on the far side of Mount Acme – as usual it had been a real one, and taken most of the team's psykers to banish it. There had as usual been a mortal Toon hanging around wearing a luminous ghost costume and the traditional rubber mask as well; he had just been a 'lifestyler'. California was full of such people.**

 **"Nothing like exercising your exorcising, is there?" Calgari quipped, the raven as bright-eyed and cheerful as ever. "And we even got to righteously punish some evil traffic offenders, on the way back. Even Shirley can't say we're all bad, supporting Law and Justice like that."**

 **"A successful day, yes," Colonel Fenix agreed. "Though perhaps you're getting a little… overzealous in keeping up your Cover identity, Lieutenant Calgari."**

 **The raven saluted. "Sir! Wouldn't it be more suspicious if people saw a uniformed traffic warden walk straight past illegally parked vehicles, ignoring clear parking violations? Of course I wheel-clamped them all. Epoxy welded the clamps shut, too."**

 **"We love this job, Sir!" Angelina's eyes sparkled as she smartly saluted.**

 **"Mmm. I think if you look up the fine print, you might find those fire trucks and ambulances have permission to park anywhere, in emergencies." Colonel Fenix turned to Shirley. "Lieutenant McLoon, you and your aura did a good job today, even without… overzealousness."**

 **"Like, it was totally no big deal, dude Sir," a tired loon nodded.**

 _ **Another bound spirit cleared off the material plane, like busting a log-jam on a river**_ **, her aura agreed.** _ **Free to progress on to the next stage of its spiritual journey, or some junk.**_

 **"Of course, it might have been hanging onto the material plane by its psychic fingernails all these years, because it had a very good idea just what to expect next," Calgari mused. "There are worse things than wandering around empty chalets scaring tourists."**

 **"Yes. When we exorcised that spirit, what was it yelling about as it faded away? Something about 'a black tunnel and beyond it only a greater darkness, with a sound like the snarling of wolves'? We all heard it." Angelina winked at Shirley. "Thanks to Miss Doer of Good Deeds here."**

 **"Its grody karma is its own fault, not my problem," Shirley snapped.**

 **Colonel Fenix turned to look at her, his eyes full of concern. "And now, we have time to think of what certainly IS your concern. Before it becomes everyone's. Your daughters."**

 **Shirley winced. She wished she could have argued that any chicks brought up by a depraved Perfecto villainess and an Acme Loo graduate shallow enough to rate as an ant-friendly paddling pool, were the fault of those two. But that would not have explained how the ducklings had ended up with an absolutely stupid amount of Power to throw around and none of the finer feelings that might limit what they did with it. "Like, as one of my incarnations said to the Emperor Nero, '** _ **Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa'**_ **. I did it, fer sure." That incarnation had finished very shortly after in the Coliseum; Nero had not been in a good mood that day but at least the lions had been pleased to see her for a dinner-date.**

 **"Removing all trace of their father from their spirits – leaving them without everything he was meant to give them, yes. Leaving them dangerously imbalanced, their psychic abilities having… expanded to fill the void in their psyches where most emotions should be." Colonel Fenix looked hard at the loon and her aura. "It's not '** _ **all jump onto the assault bus'**_ **urgent yet, but it's a clear and present danger. I'll leave it with you for now." With that, he nodded and headed out, leaving Shirley with the three Addams Academy Toons.**

 **Shirley's feathers drooped. "This totally lags. We have to save the world, over and over. It never quits."**

 **"As my Master frequently observes, '** _ **it's just one damned thing after another'**_ **– and in his neighbourhood, it certainly is," Calgari quipped.**

 **Shirley sighed, too tired to want an argument. "What'd happen to the world if we all quit, or WashingToon's bean counters closed our Unit?" There were quite a few rivals for the famous Unlimited Black Budget, she knew – mostly from units who had that strange official-issue shtick of only showing up on film with special-effect black bars hiding their eyes. She had always wondered how they managed to see, and how they avoided having their disguises blown by villains simply looking at them through a camera rangefinder and spotting the black facial bars.**

 **"Have you ever thought," Calgari asked her seriously "That all these crises only happen because there's someone like us around to handle them?"**

 **"That's a horrible thought," Angelina said, meditatively "I like it."**

 **"What do you mean?" Shirley addressed the raven warily.**

 **"It's just an idea," Calgari said. "But, you know, the Universe strives for balance. There's proven natural laws like 'work expands to fill the time available' and 'bureaucracy expands to consume the budget', even you can't deny." He paused. "Create an Extra-Special Forces unit to handle once-in-a-generation crises, and suddenly those crises start showing up once per film reel. Think about it."**

 **"Weapons lying around get used. So do teams like us," Tlalocopa added. "Is just the way the harmonious script of Universe works."**

 _ **When did you ever care about harmony?**_ **Shirley's aura snapped.** _ **All you do is try and push your Dark-side agenda!**_

 **Calgari shook his head. "Haven't you worked it out yet? What with Colonel Fenix and the rest being sort of Pragmatic Neutral alignment and you being Awful Good – of course we have to balance things."**

 **"That's 'Lawful' Good to you," Shirley retorted. "Not 'Awful'."**

 **"Oh, yes. I wondered why you've never been Awfully Good to us…" Calgari mused.**

 **"That's why you're part of the problem, Shirley," Angelina grinned. "And you know the really funny thing? Your radical conscience won't ever let you quit this job – because if you did, you just know the day after, something world-threatening will show up that for some strange and unlikely plot reason only you could have handled. And then it'll be too late."**

 **"And we'll have to watch as the last of your Sanity Points goes blunt," Calgari sighed in mock sorrow.**

 _ **You, preserving the Universal balance?**_ _ **That idea gives have a headache**_ **, Shirley's aura complained.** _ **That is SO unfair, with me not even having a material head!**_

 **"Should talk to Major Terata, next time we go to Japan, work with his Beautiful Mutant Battalion again," Tlalocopa suggested. "Maybe he can spare one of his?" The Japanese Self-Defence Force officer was one of the few who, when his varied job metaphorically had him 'wearing two hats', could physically do that.**

" **Ah. Modern medicine has advanced so fast," Calgari mused. "It was on the news while you were away, just before dear President Hitcher's inauguration – the first double hand transplant. A worker at the local '** _ **Day-care Centre for Particularly Annoying Brats'**_ **received the hands from the executed Sacramento Strangler." He paused, considering. "I wonder just how THAT'S going to turn out."**

 **"We watch this space, as they say!" Tlalocopa winked.**

 **"Gross," Shirley shuddered. "I'll stick to being this team's Healer, fer sure." She patted her medical pouch, where she kept aromatherapy and colour healing remedies for the Massive Trauma and fourth-degree Dip burn emergencies the military prepared its medics to handle.**

" **How can you still be our Healer?" Angelina asked, puzzled. "After all, you admitted deliberately killing a patient."**

 **Shirley stared at her open-beaked. "Totally no way!" She gasped.**

 **"Yes, you did, we all heard you confess," Angelina insisted. "The day you arrived at that alternate world, you said."**

 **"I staked a vampire, fer sure," Shirley protested. "One of those grody Undead."**

 **Calgari shook his head pityingly. "Undead? That's such a vital-ist word. We really ought to call them 'post-terminal care patients' these days, you know," he said. "They're a disadvantaged minority, persecuted by the system. And by you."**

 **"Si! They cannot even get Life Insurance," Tlalocopa agreed. "Is such prejudice against 'daylight-challenged persons' – you call vampires."**

 **"Like, you'd probably call a Zombie Apocalypse a 'Necro-respect protest march' or some junk," Shirley snapped.**

 **"Zombies? You mean special-needs patients suffering from 'post-terminal whole-body necrosis syndrome'" Calgari said smoothly. "That unfortunate condition's challenging enough without you blasting them to ash on sight just because they're 'differently animate'."**

 **"Abusing a 'vital-signs challenged' patient like that… and you still deny you're on the Dark Side of the Farce," Angelina tapped her head pityingly. "What delusions."**

 **"They can try and cure those delusions, though! Radical exploratory psychosurgery is all the rage these days," Calgari said seriously. "There's a whole new generation of keen and radical scalpel-wielders, eager to explore the cutting edge of Science."**

 **Tlalocopa pulled out her obsidian sacrificial knife. "We can try it and maybe help you, si! I saw someone do this on TV once, looked easy enough. What can go wrong?"**

 _ **We are SO out of here**_ **, Shirley's aura sniffed, leaving in formation with her material twin.**

 **The three Addams Academy toons watched them go, amused.**

 **"Ah, our favourite psychological punch-bag," Calgari smiled. "We should get her something nice for Christmas. Shirley having to be grateful to us would be such a conflict of interests… well worthwhile, I'd say."**

 **"Yes! She's into ancient traditional crafts, and organic, living things," Angelina said. Suddenly her eyes lit up. "What about one of those bonsai kittens? They raise them in glass jars. Make a great conversation piece. And they're organic and traditional."**

 **"Could do. I was thinking about dropping by at our dear old Academy and begging a party-sized drum of low-sulphur Nightmare Fuel for her," Calgari said. "Still, no reason we can't do both."**

 **"Si! Will be good if we get all Shirley's family together in team. Real traditional Christmas," Tlalocopa suggested. "Shirley makes a great psychic piñata."**

 **"Her own chicks, Brandi and Candi – what an asset they'd make," Angelina marvelled. "I can just imagine it. It'd be such a great parody of a traditional family, them all joining us."**

" _ **Stands the Church clock at ten to three – and are there eyeballs still for tea**_ **?" Calgari misquoted from an old poem. "It'd be good to give them a proper corvid upbringing like we had. Happy days."**

 **"Mmmm..." Angelina's beady black eyes sparkled. "Training up the '** _ **The two fluffy Ducklings of the Apocalypse**_ **' as noble crusaders for the Dark Side. Anti-Paladins of Justice, reading all the right books and learning all the right spells. That really would be good. Though if we did that… Shirley might go so violently insane her head shears right off with the force of it."**

" **A real win-win situation." Tlalocopa nodded appreciatively, thinking about it.**

" **And if not, there's always the Clinic for the Clinically and Comically insane to drag her off to, with lots of really bold and radical treatments people can try out on the patients to try and cure them or something." Angelina concluded happily.**

 **Calgari smiled, pulling an industrial nail-gun out of his Hammerspace pocket. "Well, we're all into giving deserving patients good old-fashioned New Age alternative therapies. Extreme acupuncture, anyone?"**

 **"Or give Shirley a traditional shamanic sweat-lodge experience, but replace boring old-fashioned steam with Dip fumes," Angelina suggested. "Really cleans out the tubes. Should recommend it to Doctor Wyrdbeard for his Institute."**

 **"That Clinic is a happy place, I hear about it," Tlalocopa said. "Full of white-coated Doctors, all go about chuckling and giggling to themselves as they think of ever more radical Experiments, si."**

" **Yes indeed. So many Fascinating Experiments – in capitals, no less. That place gets a lot of patients in from the Suppercollider," Calgari nodded. "Not surprising. All those bold, hopeful young scientists go questing for the hidden truths behind matter, space and time. Only to discover those secret deceptions, the deliciously wicked lies carefully hidden at the heart of it all in the first instants after Plank Time. No wonder they go insane." The fundamental truth about the Universe, he reflected, was that the whole thing was an exquisitely cruel joke played on its inhabitants – and only at places such as Addams Academy did Toons get the joke.**

 **"We shouldn't say 'insane' these days, it's so negative and judgemental," Angelina said brightly. "How about 'differently normal'? Like, we're all keen on embracing diversity around here."**

" **Good people like us, like diversity" Tlalocopa grinned. "Calgari - inventing Political Correctness was a great coup for your Master!" Being the Father of Lies was less fashionable these days than being a Spin-Doctor able to not only re-define Truth but insinuate that everyone not agreeing with the revised versions were the villains now.**

" **Yes. Even President Hitcher isn't called a crazed axe-murderer on the news any more – he's now properly recognised as a** _ **'spokes-person for a previously oppressed minority, an inspiring role model fo**_ **r** _ **persons of alternative axe-centric lifestyle, boldly challenging the stale preconceptions of performance art'.**_ **Isn't that neat? Affirmative Action is for everybody, serial killers too." Angelina said happily** _ **.**_ **"His birthday, January the tenth, they're thinking of declaring it the start of the all-new national holiday, Serial Killer Pride week, with parades and everything. Big prizes for the best victim-derived, I mean participant-derived, skin masks."**

 **"Quite right too. You can get art awards these days for a half side of beef floating in a tank of liquid. And that's so… static a piece of dissection. What he did to that filibustering Senator last night live on Channel Five, though…" Calgari's eyes went wide as he remembered appreciatively. "That was bold, dynamic! The Art of the Now! If a little messy. I think they'll need to re-paint the Oval Office ceiling, you know."**

 **"He not even counted now as eccentric, only axe-centric," Tlalocopa said. "And the news channels they love him; their ratings have never been better. Is only text journalists have any quarrel, and that with each other. About how they spell his laugh."**

 **"Is it 'Muahahhahahhhaaa!' or 'Bruahahahaaaagh'? That's the question," Angelina nodded. "Political commentators need to spot the subtle nuances in his speeches to Congress. It's sometimes about all they have to go on." Just as other Presidents had their trademarked costume features such as Abraham Lincoln's top hat and President Quayle's inside-out shirt, the current face of modern politics often wore a somewhat spattered hockey mask.**

 **"Truly the greatest political question of our time." Calgari nodded seriously. "Still, Washingtoon's all closed for the holidays now. All the senators and generals are at home with their families, and there's an answering machine on the Hotline, I'm sure."**

 **"What are we doing for Christmas?" Angelina stretched lazily. "I thought of getting a good rooftop sniper nest on main street and spending the day water-ballooning carol singers below."**

 **"That a bit mild for you," Tlalocopa said reprovingly.**

 **"Did I say 'water'-ballooning? Just a figure of speech. You can get Teflon balloons that'll stay flexible even when you fill them with liquid nitrogen," Angelina said. "And still burst when they hit."**

 **"Muy cool!" Tlalocopa nodded happily.**

 **"Or we can spend the day in a sacred religious service, same as everyone else. Well, with a few little differences," Calgari suggested. "There's that Church of Abundant Undeath down in Santa Barbara – they promise a nightmarishly blasphemous, impious rite guaranteed to shock and awe even the most sophisticated celebrant… or double your money back!"**

 **"Mmmm." Angelina looked impressed. "I've heard of that place. When they schedule a depraved and sinister ritual, and folk ask 'just HOW sinister?' they just point to the team from the Guinness Book of Records usually standing by to measure it."**

 **"Oh, yes. It's that time of year again, isn't it? And what was Colonel Fenix saying at the briefing this morning? The tarot cards reckon we should be seeing a real 'Deus Ex Machina' in town in the next few days."**

" **I wonder who's coming to party. Someone… interesting, I hope." Angelina said eagerly. "Last year, it was a bit of a let-down, we hoped for something really Gothick with horns and spikes and only got that mega-cute feline invading."**

" **Hmm." Calgari opened up his official** _ **Pouch, M2017, Infantry, I-Ching Carrier**_ **and pulled out the issued military divination sticks. Throwing them, he studied the pattern they made. "That's interesting. I'm getting a definite suggestion of an arriving deity, with tentacles, yes… but not a Miskatoonic or an Anime meme either. Not-exactly-tentacles? Strange."**

" **Not an Aztec god, then," Tlalocopa sighed. "Not my pantheon."**

" **Well, we can but hope for something Unspeakable, and I don't mean a mime invasion. I think this time of year the Stars are near enough Right." Calgari nodded pleasantly. "Who knows what'll come on down from the sinister stars?" Pulling out his Air Guitar, he sang out joyously to the darkening skies:**

 **"** _ **Roodmas time, tentacles and slime**_

 _ **Children do unspeakable crimes**_

 _ **Blood on the altars, bale-fires burn**_

 _ **Time to rejoice as the Old Ones return!"**_

* * *

 **Back in the forests around Mount Acme, at the Crowninshield Mansion that was now home to a fast expanding flock of waterfowl, Plucky was sitting raptly in front of the giant flat-screen television. His eyes went wide and square in a special-effect 'take' as Fowlmouth's band came onscreen again, starting their seasonal concert.**

 **"Say!" Without turning round, he addressed whoever it was that he could hear walking past behind him. "Just look at Vinnie Deer go, on that 405 mm flugelhorn! You know, that model can play notes that nobody ever heard before!"**

 **"Yes, dear," Margot leaned over his shoulder and rubbed her bill against his affectionately. "But aren't you forgetting there's something we arranged?"**

 **For a few seconds Plucky's eyes stayed locked on the screen. "At full volume the bypass doors open so most of the airflow bypasses the core, straight into the afterburner..." he blinked, as Margot's reminder filtered through to him. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Get down into Acme Acres tonight. Face-to-face with that scriptwriter for the new film. And pick up that extra maid you wanted, she'll be on her way by now."**

 **"That's it." Margot said lightly, patting him on his head-feathers. "Like we agreed."**

 **With a theatrical sigh, Plucky pulled himself away from the TV. "I'll pick her up from the main road bus stop, give her a lift back here before I go into town," he said loudly. Slipping on his long winter coat he walked outside, and soon Margot heard the sound of his 5-wheel drive vehicle start up and drive away.**

 **"Margot?" A voice came from behind her a few minutes later as she sat on the recently vacated sofa.**

 **Margot turned to see Gracie standing, clutching a feather duster nervously. Gladys walked in behind her, from the direction of the kitchens. Margot smiled, and patted the sofa next to her. "What's on your mind?"**

 **Gladys and Gracie sat on either side of her, the blonde and the red-head-feathered girl pressed close to Margot. Gracie looked worried. "I couldn't help overhearing – you're getting another maid in?"**

 **"Mmmm." Margot relaxed, putting an arm around two shoulders as she hugged the pair gently. "I thought I might give you both a Christmas treat. A bit of help in the house."**

 **"Really, it's no trouble," Gracie protested. "We can manage."**

 **Margot's feather-hand slipped town to caress Gracie's belly, cupping the egg-heavy roundness lovingly. "And you both do a wonderful job – but quite soon now, you'll both be laying eggs. That'll be… quite a sight for me. And quite an experience for you." Her eyes gleamed at the prospect; it was definitely a home delivery they had in mind, and she even had a nurse outfit hanging ready in one of her many wardrobes, ready to assist when the time was right. "Believe me, it's a lot more physical than just having a stork deliver one. You won't feel like doing any vigorous furniture shifting or carpet-beating for a while. And then, of course, there'll be your eggs to sit on, that'll take so much of your time."**

 **Gladys blushed, her eyes drawn to the stork feather nestling in Margot's considerable cleavage. Like Gracie and every other pure-strain avian girl, Gladys' chest was a smooth flat sweep of feathers. "Talking about storks, and you and us… are you sure Plucky doesn't… mind?"**

 **Margot softly kissed her bill, then that of Gracie. "My dear husband thinks that's a very hot idea."**

 **Gladys nodded. "We noticed when you got your bed… it's sized for four, not two, or even three."**

 **"Mmm. It always pays to plan ahead… leave room for expansion." Margot said. Suddenly she snickered, pressing a feather-hand lightly on each gravid maid's belly. "I rather enjoy… going right ahead with expansion plans." Turning to Gracie, she smiled. "So I asked Plucky's permission to bring in some extra help. Someone I've met before – she's quite suitable, believe me."**

 **Gladys had been listening intently. "That sounded like Plucky's car coming back, a minute ago… now it's driven off again. He said he was going to pick the new girl up and bring her here."**

 **Margot nodded. In her mind's eye, a few hundred yards round the first bend in the road the car would be parked. There would be a tell-tale track in the snow of broad, masculine webbed feet heading back towards the house – which at some point would become the daintier, feminine ones of a much smaller avian.**

 **Sure enough, a minute later the front doorbell rang. Margot smiled, as Gladys and Gracie sprang up to answer it. "I believe that'll be sweet Skylar now. I do hope you'll be friends."**

* * *

 **Her duty shift over, Shirley McLoon retired to her caravan, and tried to centre herself. It was proving a struggle. She sighed; back at Acme Looniversity she had only to put up with… what had that bratty rich kid been called? She shook her head. Of the other antagonists, Elmyra had rarely bothered her, and as to encounters with Perfecto – a few well aimed sub-KiloToon yield psychic blasts had generally made them stay clear. Plus, the rest of her class had been friends she could rely on.**

 _ **Face it, the Addams bunch are all more powerful than we are**_ **, her aura complained.** _ **But if we ever quit this job – they'd have the Unit pretty much to themselves. Who knows what they'd do? We couldn't hand them all that power.**_

 **"Fer sure," Shirley sighed. "I need all the energy I can get; I have totally got to re-charge my charka harmonics. I'm turning in." She could hear sounds of merriment from Calgari's trailer, and recognised the raven's favourite tune being played loudly – 'Eyeball in my Martini' by The Cramps.**

 _ **Sleep well – I've this dire feeling we're going to need everything we can get**_ **, her aura thought grimly, heading off to bask in the energies of the harmonious realms of the Sixth astral plane while the material Shirley hung up her uniform, showered and wearily slid into bed. She was asleep in seconds flat.**

 **That night, Shirley dreamed. She was walking through a primordial landscape of cottonwood trees and tail-high bluegrass. In the blue and unsullied skies non-Toon birds flew overhead in huge flocks that looked oddly like the extinct Passenger Pigeons. There was no sign of anyone around to talk to, or that there had ever been.**

 **Suddenly she stopped. She recognised the landscape, with Mount Acme towering off to the East and Lake Acme surrounded by woods and wetlands. This was Acme Acres – or at least, where Acme Acres should be.**

 **There was suddenly a huge psychic presence behind her, and she turned, her aura gasping in awe at the sudden realisation of just WHO was here. There was a huge figure, definitely female but of uncertain species, or rather like every species, seeming to blend with the earth she grew out of. As if she was the Earth, in a form one could talk with. Shirley saw in horror she had been grievously wounded, torn and scarred almost all over – but those scars were fading and even as Shirley watched, they healed.**

 **"Like, Goddess. Gaia. In person." Shirley gulped, worshipfully kneeling with her aura alongside her. Then she noticed two smaller figures standing at the Nature goddess' right hand. They seemed to be waterfowl girls of around ten years old, their auras chill perfection like unsullied blue-white glacier ice, with no spark of warmth in there. They radiated power, a clean pitiless power unmixed and un-tempered by any emotion.**

 **Gaia reached down and her huge hand gently rested on the heads of Brandi and Candi** _ **. Well done, my good and faithful servants,**_ **a voice the size of a planet spoke.** _ **You have healed me**_ **. Those all-knowing eyes turned to Shirley** _ **. And for you, as reward you may see what those hatched of your eggs have wrought**_ **.**

 **Shirley blinked, looking around. She had a horrible suspicion that despite appearances, this was not the pristine alternative time-line she had sent her unhatched eggs to with Plucky and Margot. Somehow this felt exactly like the one where Acme Acres, her friends and all that she had known, had been.**

 **From somewhere a song echoed down the clean breeze, an old tune that Shirley recognised as being by one of her mother's favourite bands, Talking Heads.**

 _ **Where? Where have they gone?**_

 _ **Now, there's nothing but flowers**_

 _ **There was a factory**_

 _ **Now there are mountains and rivers**_

 _ **(You got it, you got it)**_

 _ **We caught a rattlesnake**_

 _ **Now we've got something for dinner**_

 _ **(You got it, you got it)**_

 _ **There was a shopping mall**_

 _ **Now it's all covered in flowers**_

 _ **If this is paradise, I wish I had a lawn-mower….**_

 **"Where's everybody? What did you – do?" She gasped, her feathers bristling in shock as she looked wide-eyed at her daughters. "The city and – everything? The world?"**

 **Candi returned her gaze with a chill indifference. "We fixed it." She said flatly. "We made all the bad stuff go away."**

 **[Third Commercial break]**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

 **Christmas Eve dawned bright and chill, with not a breath of wind in the frosty air. In the deep woods around Mount Acme, breakfast-time saw Plucky out in the woods trying to explain to Brandi and Candi why to make a snowman. Not how – when he turned his back on them for a second, a ten-foot one had somehow been created - but why it was a fun and seasonal idea. He did not seem to be getting very far.**

 **Back indoors in the warm, there was a knock at Margot's bedroom door. Margot put down her T-pad from where she had been typing from the comfort of her family-sized bed; she was a frequent correspondent with the ACME corporation, often suggesting novel uses for their standard catalogue items that could put them (re-named and priced rather dearer) in the Adult supplement. "Enter!" She smiled as Gladys and Gracie brought in her breakfast in bed. "Mmm. That smells delightful. Did you sleep well? And how's the nursery?"**

 **Gracie smiled back, and drew the curtains. "We're fine. And everyone's been fed and their diapers changed." She paused. Margot took care of most fledgling feeding very personally, but outside 'office hours' she had provided a ready milk supply stored in freeze-frame. There was a reason for the dairymaid costumes Gladys and Gracie sometimes wore, and the comfortable chamber downstairs equipped with well-scrubbed items from the ACME catalogue's Adult supplement. "Tomorrow, it'll be their first ever Christmas for Millie, Molly and Douglas!"**

 **Gladys pulled out a T-pad from her apron pocket. "We've got all the food in and everything scheduled, so no matter how it snows, we're all set for Christmas. And New Year, too."**

 **"I'm sure we'll all have a splendid time." Margot nodded. "Though I know it's a lot of work for you. That's why I thought of getting Skylar round."**

 **Gladys put the covered, hallmarked silver dishes down on the fashionably retro Hostess warming trolley by the bedside and looked over at Margot, who was relaxed contentedly against the silk pillows. "Will she be coming back?"**

 **"It's a pity she couldn't stay," Gracie said. "She was nice."**

 **Margot took her time answering. "That's not up to me, dear. I hope you two didn't frighten her off." Her eyes closed, and a wicked smile played over her bill. "Though she seemed to enjoy herself. Thoroughly. Very thoroughly indeed." She paused "If this was Perfecto, I'd point to her contract and insist she came back to finish her work. She didn't get much time to do a lot of sweeping and polishing, what with you and Gracie pouncing on her."**

 **Gladys blushed. "She looked so nice even wearing that store-bought outfit. Maybe we could make her clothes to match ours, if she comes back. We took all her measurements."**

 _ **Amongst other things**_ **, Margot chuckled inwardly, recalling the eventful evening before. She imagined Gladys and Gracie dressing 'Skylar' in a fetching, matching outfit to their own, and smiled. "Skylar had to go – anyway, it was time for Plucky to get back."** _ **One way or another,**_ **she idly reflected. It was all one big happy family now, she mused – Skylar really was quite a different Toon to Plucky, and yet when she had married Plucky and promised 'forsaking all others' that had never mentioned all his other potential forms.**

 **"But we will see her again?" Gladys asked hopefully.**

 **"I expect so," Margot said lightly. She smiled. In a way it was not cheating at all – in some very basic ways Skylar was not Plucky in drag, but – more like the sister he had never had.** _ **Unlike us**_ **, she noted approvingly. The danger of Skylar falling asleep and changing back was something that Margot had considered. On reflection, she decided the risk made things decidedly more interesting. Perfecto graduates could engineer and enjoy highly complex (and amusing) situations without everything going hideously wrong and the entire cast ending up fighting it out on the Jerry Springer show ™.**

 **Gracie smiled shyly. "I hope we didn't scare her off. It'd be good if she joined us, at least sometimes."**

 **"One way or another," Margot nodded. "Anyway – it wouldn't do for you dear sweet girls to go too far with her on a 'first date', would it? You know what happens if things get TOO 'dramatic,' even with an all-girl party." She stroked her stork feather, currently all she wore. "Although her making a matching set with us that way would make things… nicely symmetrical, it could give the poor girl problems. More than for most girls."** _ **And so much more than you know**_ **, she thought gleefully.**

 **Gracie looked up at her as she knelt to straighten the bedside rug. "You mean – we should think of something more dramatic for next time?" She blinked, her tail-feathers spreading slightly as her mind raced.**

 **"What would it be like… seeing her… match." Gladys looked down at Margot's stork feather, her mind racing. "And she's a mammal mix like you… though not nearly so much."**

 **Margot laughed. "You two are becoming wicked, wicked girls, you do know that? My meme must have rubbed off on you. Somehow."**

 **Gladys bowed her head, but she was smiling. "I wonder how that could have happened."**

 **Margot patted the pillows on each side of her. Breakfast on the trolley would keep warm for quite a while. "Such short memories, too." Her voice was a warm, almost feline purr. "Come over here, and I'll remind you." Just because Perfecto graduates were usually wealthy, she reflected, was no reason they would want to miss out on enjoying a '** _ **two for the price of one'**_ **deal.**

 **As Margot relaxed, in her mind's eye she imagined a clumsy bird flapping over the house carrying an express delivery feather, alighting on a snow-laden tree with a more than usually puzzled expression.** _ **Where is that lucky lil' lady gone?**_ **The stork thought, scanning the horizon fruitlessly for a newly fruitful fowl. There was a clear morphic resonance trail to follow heading away from the house, along with an outward track of petite web-footed prints in the snow – and where the prints inexplicably changed, the trail stopped. Not only could the Customer not be found in the neighbourhood, she was – nowhere. The stork shrugged, examined the "Announcement' feather it was carrying and mentally labelled it as '** _ **delivery delayed**_ **.' Not** _ **'Delivery refused; return to base and remove Customer from lis**_ **t' – that was not the same thing at all.**

* * *

 **Shirley woke in her trailer, after a disturbed night's sleep. She blushed at the state of her feathers, hastily showered and began to clean the place. "Like, another wet nightmare," she shook her head, a twinge of guilt supressing a smile. "Every night, since I got back."**

 **Her aura reappeared, looking relaxed and sun-tanned from basking in the healthy energies of the sixth astral plane. Her bill wrinkled as with a delicate shudder she looked at the state of the trailer before flowing back to overlap with Shirley's body.** _ **Like, total eww,**_ **she complained, surveying the scene.** _ **I smell ectoplasm. Like something's – manifested in here.**_

 **"Live with it, spook-girl. I have material needs, you know? I can't help what I dream. And it's been a long time since… Plucky." Her tousled golden head-feathers drooped. "And our eggs."**

 _ **And see how THAT'S turned out**_ **, her aura sniffed.** _ **Serves you right for feeding on dead animals like some totally gross carnivore while you carried those eggs. Karma or what?**_

 **"Like I had a choice, when my biology was yelling for calcium for the shells, and telling me tofu and miso protein weren't good enough for… Brandi and Candi." The trashy names Margot had given them tasted sour in Shirley's mouth. The messy biological fact that Loons were not evolved to be vegetarians was something she had long learned to skirt around.**

 _ **They're your bum karma, not mine. Nothing of mine is in them. If it was, things would be different. And it could have been.**_ **For a second the material and astral loons shared a bittersweet memory of a harmonious foursome with Plucky and his aura, an entity that had to be prized out of the egotistic drake using a psychic crowbar wielded with extreme force.**

 **"Fer sure," Shirley said sourly. "Because you high-tailed it out to the Spirit Plane in disgust. * That's why they missed out on your contribution." If her aura could have a child of her own, was an interesting 'concept' in more ways than one, but the growing eggs had taken no part of her astral twin.**

 *** (Editor's note: see the earlier tale 'Loonquest" for details…)**

 _ **I did. When you decided to play 'battery hen' with Plucky and that last pet cage of Elmyra's**_ **, her aura snapped.** _ **I was so out of there! No wonder the chicks ended up… totally warped.**_ **The loon aura shuddered, snapping back to the present.** _ **Getting into your shape in the mornings is nearly as gross. Like putting on a used wetsuit and finding it's all icky in there.**_

 **Shirley nodded. It had been part of the dream, she was certain – but it always seemed to end up with a sound as of something slithering away into the distance. Her aura was never around at the time to watch over her. "It's not way surprising," she offered. "What with all these uncool tensions, it's going to get totally released somehow." She shifted uncomfortably, recalling just what those dreams had been – of the ill-defined bat-like thing she had been clutching, white feathers caressing greasy fur as she surrendered joyfully in a way she never had in her waking life.**

 _ **In a totally gross and icky way, fer sure,**_ **her aura commented as Shirley sponged the ceiling clean. The astral shape frowned. It was strange that nothing like it had happened when they had been on the alternative, dark-side plotline for all those months, where things had been just as frustrating. It was almost as if there was something around this particular trailer that had such an effect.** _ **I'm picking up a dark-side vibe around here. It's fading, though.**_

 **"Probably those Addams Academy dudes walking past. They're a psychic smog cloud." Shirley nodded. She felt her aura give a twinge of alarm. "What's up?"**

 **Her aura shivered.** _ **It's a bit of a contradiction – I can also sense the only Toon around here who's like way cool and harmonious with his job. But he's the one I can't even get to look at**_ **. She cast a meaningful image to Shirley.** _ **He's a way good guy, I can see that even if he can't see me.**_

 **"Fer sure." Shirley said, recognising just who her aura meant. She turned and caught sight of herself in the unbreakable, military-spec mirror on the wall; a tall pale loon with shoulder-length head-feathers, currently rather ruffled after a disturbed night. She turned round slowly; vanity was not a harmonious thing, but she registered that everything was correct and in perfect order. A slender, entirely flat-fronted chest, her body narrow at the shoulders and widening to a somewhat pear-shape towards the hips, with her lower legs featherless and yellow-gold down to her broad webbed feet. She nodded; after so many reincarnations it was hard to always remember what she had looked like centuries before, but she was sure she had never worn a mammal form.**

 **For an instant she imagined what it would be like to be both – a mix like Margot, with feathers covering a shape that any mammal male would recognise and wolf-whistle after seeing the most fleeting silhouette.** _ **And some misguided avian males too**_ **, she recalled with a flush of embarrassment. Then she shook her head angrily. "Like a bowl of organic red beetroot soup is a good thing... and so is a prayer carpet. Way different things. Drop one on the other and they're both totally ruined. A mix is a mess."**

 **Shirley finished cleaning, dressed and opened the trailer door. Her aura braced herself, knowing what was about to happen. Outside, she spotted the familiar form of Corporal Barnes in full uniform and issued field pack, enthusiastically doing his regulation morning push-ups in a snowdrift. Of all Unit Four Plus Two, he was the one she had spoken to the least, except for handing him her share of the paperwork the military insisted on. The border collie loved filing correct paperwork. "He can't help having negative psychic powers. It's not like he chose them. He can't even turn them off. He doesn't even know he's got them. Wouldn't believe it if you told him."**

 _ **But when he's around – I'm not even outa here. I… I'm nowhere**_ **. Her aura winced. Her tone became strangely wistful.** _ **And he's, like, totally got the most mondo and rad pure aura in the whole Unit, Colonel Fenix included.**_ **Since leaving Looniversity Shirley's 'Valley Girl' accent had intensified to the point where some of her colleagues had to ask for sub-titles. Just at that moment, the eager collie finished his regulation exercises and looked in the Shirley's direction. Shirley's aura gave a moan and evaporated, gone like a shadow hit by a brilliant searchlight, just before they made eye contact.**

 **Shirley smiled in sympathy. It was ironic enough that she was miscast in a military career, but the collie had it far worse - serving in a unit of Psychics, when he disbelieved in all such things. Disbelieved so strongly in fact, that when he was around, he was right about it. Both of them would love to be anywhere else – but doing that would have violated the natural Toon law of Conservation of Comedy.**

 _ **The greatest laughs for the greater number, as they taught us in class**_ **, she thought wryly as she closed her trailer door and prepared to face the new day.** _ **The one getting hit with the anvil doesn't have to laugh about it.**_

 **"Corporal! Good morning." She said, wincing inwardly as the collie sprang to attention. "At ease." Even now, the military phrases seemed to stick in her throat. She sighed. "Like, do you really – have to do all those push-ups and junk? It's not compulsory in this Unit, Colonel Fenix told me."**

 **Corporal Barnes nodded eagerly. "Yes Ma'm! I do my best to perform my duties. All of them. Including keeping fit as per regulations, and keeping up with new tactical developments." He tapped a newly arrived military journal that he pulled out of a belt pouch and offered for inspection.**

 **Shirley scanned the headline story; there had been a tactical disaster in the field when an extra-special Forces unit had been let down by a mix of bad planning and equipment; they had been wearing the latest digital pattern camouflage on a mission that had taken them through some old-fashioned analogue woodland where they stood out like Dayglo ™. She frowned. "Corporal – do you really like the Army life?"**

 **The collie's tail wagged. "Yes, Ma'm! I joined for the hours of extreme cleaning, the parades, the pack drill and the getting shouted at." His tail drooped slightly. "Though… Colonel Fenix doesn't do much of that. In my old unit we had a Master Sergeant who could yell at you right in your face non-stop for three hours and never repeat himself!" His eyes gleamed at the happy memory. "And… that well-scrubbed parade square, sometimes we'd be allowed to clean it with toothbrushes. It was the cleanest in the whole Army! We don't even have one round here, though." The tail drooped further. "I wish we did. I miss precision squad drill, all the marching up and down in formation."**

 **"Way strange. It looks like you're always on duty. What do you do for a hobby?" Shirley asked, curiously.**

 **Corporal Barnes smiled, pulling out a thick olive-green notebook. "I collect Military TLA's, Ma'm!" ***

 **Shirley looked though the book or three-letter abbreviations, all neatly indexed in alphabetical order. "Wierdsville." She flipped to the back pages. "But – these last ones – they all just say ' *** '. What's all that junk?"**

 **Corporal Barnes looked uncomfortable. "Those are the ones I found that I'm not currently cleared to know about, Ma'm."**

 **Shirley winced. She imagined the collie carefully writing the codes down in exact order then thoroughly censoring them in case he accidentally saw them again. It seemed par for the course around here; she had heard that Colonel Fenix reported weekly to USAMRICORSF, which even he had no idea what it did or what the acronym stood for. He had never heard anything back, and assumed it was still around somewhere. The phoenix had speculated that its classification might be so high that all its serving personnel had retired years ago, but they had never been cleared to tell anyone about it so the Army could arrange new recruits. "Mondo bogus."**

 **The collie saluted. "And now, Ma'm, I have to get back to my duties. Colonel Fenix has promised me, if I complete the Unit's paperwork and my medic's coursework before zero nine hours, he'll let me dig some more trenches! In frozen soil, too!" He patted the webbing pouch on his belt containing the** _ **Tool, Entrenching, Tri-fold, M1962 Model B**_ **that he lovingly oiled and sharpened every week.**

 **(Editor's note: Three Letter Acronyms, which is a TLA in its own right. Four-letter acronyms are not FLAs but ETLAs – Extended Three-Letter Acronyms. Strange but true.)**

 **Shirley forced herself to return the salute.** _ **It's what he's major into, way harmonious with it. My aura's totally right about that,**_ **she thought. For a second she recalled her astral twin's tone when talking of the honest hound.** _ **Like, no way.**_ _ **Her, getting a crush on him? That's the most mondo impossible couple! Makes Fifi's running after all those faux skunk boys in class look like Babs' and Buster's sure-fire scripted-from-the-start romance**_ **! She hesitated, reminded again of the Laws of Conservation of Comedy.** _ **Still, Toons always want most what they can't have**_ **.**

 **As Corporal Barnes happily double-timed it back to the command trailer and out of line of sight, Shirley's aura reappeared.** _ **My ears are burning, like someone was talking about me**_ **, she complained, catching Shirley's afterthought** _ **. Which is totally unfair – as I don't even have ears!**_

 **"Fer sure," Shirley said. "Not external ones. Birds don't. And you wouldn't have material ones anyway."**

 **Off in the distance they just could hear Corporal Barnes reading aloud, evidently memorising one of their training pamphlets on battlefield first-aid. "In cases of suspected decapitation," she heard the collie reciting "the first step to check is…" Then he went out of earshot, Shirley's aura casting a wistful glance in his direction.**

 **In the command trailer she found Colonel Fenix and Sergeant Gander, the tall goose poring over a report.**

 **"Like, reporting for duty or some junk, Sir," Shirley said, saluting, reminding herself that Corporal Barnes at least actually liked this sort of thing, so despite all appearances it could be done. "What's up, Colonel dude?"**

 **"Mmm." Colonel Fenix passed her the report. "Someday soon we're going to have to get back to Japan. Some Toons you know might use our help. I never met your classmate Gogo Dodo, but it appears he needs to meet us."**

 **"He's in trouble?" Shirley blinked. "I got a Christmas Card from him a while ago." It had included a film clip of the surrealist bird doing the weirdest thing that she could possibly imagine – standing in a huge plaza, bowing deeply before a giant corporate logo as one of the massed ranks of 'salarymen', before moving to the morning calisthenics while loudly singing the company anthem in exact sync with the crowd. She narrow-casted that memory to the goose and the phoenix.**

 **"Yes. That song, it translates as "** _ **Corporate loyalty to the death and beyond!**_ **' And they mean it." Colonel Fenix nodded thoughtfully. "They have a non-retirement policy. Anyone found guilty of reaching retirement alive is regarded as having failed their sacred duty and betrayed the Corporation by obviously not working hard enough."**

 **Shirley's bill wrinkled. "Gogo told me where he works. The 'Watasawa Gratuitously Heavy Engineering Corporation (Evil) Inc'; it's specially registered as an official Evil Mega-corporation, Colonel dude. They pay special Evil Corporation Tax so they can do way uncool stuff like that and officially get away with it."**

 **The phoenix looked at her steadily. "Sad but true. And that wouldn't normally be the kind of thing we investigate, even in this country. But Major Terata has called and asked if we can help, with our particular area of expertise. Because that company song – it's not exaggerating."**

 **"** _ **'Karoshi Kultur'**_ **, their P.R, people call it. They've raising their dead workers as Undead, to work unpaid forever, at least till they fall apart completely," Sergeant Gander said angrily. "And they're doing it on industrial scale."**

 **"Ewww… Way grody," Shirley shivered. She paused. Calgari had long been pressing for their unit to get one of Hollywood's trendy new improved 'Day-walking' vampires on the team; it was a great relief to her that at least one of what the raven called their 'prejudices' was holding up. "We're going to Japan and rescue Gogo?" The wacky bird had been very popular around Acme Acres, she recalled – there were half a dozen human girls who had a crush on him, Mitzi Avery's friends** _ **. And some are real strong eco-fans,**_ **she reflected –** _ **it'd be a total triumph and bragging rights for one of them to carry a dodo chick…**_

 **"Mmm. And not just him. The corporation owns his family too," Colonel Fenix nodded. "But – we can't start planning that mission till we've cleared up unfinished business here. Such as your two daughters. Which is a pity, as Major Terata really wants us in on this."**

 **Shirley looked at the T-pad Sergeant Gander had opened, the goose flicking to the contact details of Japan's Beautiful Mutant Battalion – as they said over there, '** _ **fight Monster with Monster**_ **.' It did not only apply to Tokyo-trashing megafauna. She pointed at one of the profiles. "Not everyone in that Unit is a real Mutant, you know."**

 **"I was wondering about that," Sergeant Gander frowned, studying a strange stag/eagle cross. "They're certainly exotics, but not – exactly mutants of any Earth species I've ever seen. Which is strange. I know you have to be Japanese by birth to join that team."**

 **"They are, fer sure. And their mothers are." Shirley nodded. "A couple of years back we had an exchange student, Merumo. She told us how it is over there. Like, Anime human girls these days… they really like exotic holidays. And exotic holiday romances. If you can call it that."**

 **"Mmm. An old tradition. I know there was the legend about the dangers of ladies who sleep out in the open air in thunderstorms attracting the attention of the Thunder God," Colonel Fenix said. "The way some versions of the story have it, it's more a 'how-to- guide' than a danger to avoid."**

 **The tall goose blinked, as his T-pad made the connection and displayed a Monster Manual translated from another franchise entirely. "That one with wings and antlers is a Peryton, it says. Chaotic Evil. And there's a Leucrotta in the team, too. Both of those eat humans! They're genre crossovers from another Franchise, that's not allowed. How did they get through Dimensional Customs and Immigration?"**

 **Shirley shrugged. "There's stuff Customs don't check for. Merumo loved a challenge, she said most of her class did. She's no magic-user but over there you can get pre-paid amulets loaded with Charm Monster, Fertility and Breed-True one-use spells anyone can use." She paused. "Some Anime girls aren't into tentacles. They still come back from holiday carrying little souvenirs, and I don't mean postcards. And some girls are totally into that 'Nature or Nurture', argument… they want to see if they can raise a Chaotic Evil Monster's kids as Lawful Good. It'd be totally rad bragging rights."**

 _ **And thinking of Evil**_ **, her aura signalled** _ **guess who's just outside. Incoming!**_ **She mimed diving into a trench the like of which Corporal Barnes was looking forward to digging.**

 **There was a knock on the door and the Addams Academy trio marched smartly in, reporting for duty. Shirley studiously ignored them as best she was able. In the distance she could hear Corporal Barnes dutifully reciting from his battlefield First Aid manual as he memorised it; "** _ **In cases of nose-bleeds or beak-bleeds, the use of neck tourniquets, though effective, is no longer approved. See Manual FM/1455 for details on**_ **…"**

" **And in the meantime," Colonel Fenix reminded her "Today, you have a pair of loon chicks to meet."**

 **Shirley bowed her head. At length, she took a deep breath. "I laid those eggs, fer sure. I know Margot's officially adopted Brandi and Candi; she raised them since they hatched. I'm not their Mother, any more. But I'll have to go meet them." Her own mother had taken a feather-hand in their raising, she knew, and might act as a link to see the ducklings.**

 **"Ah. The sweet innocence of youth," Calgari sighed nostalgically. "I remember my own fledgling days, all those lazy Saturday afternoons rolling around in hysterics reading the latest comic books."**

 **"Innocent, you? What comics were you reading, 'Broken pelvis funnies' or some way dark-side junk?" Shirley snapped.**

 **The raven winked. "Like our official Unit motto says – '** _ **No Comment.**_ **'"**

 **"Laughter IS the best medicine, everyone knows that," Angelina pointed out. "We'll look forward to trying hard to heal the pieces of your shattered body that way, the day you take a 250 MegaThaum sorcerous blast right in the goujons. Someday soon, maybe. Aren't we nice?"**

 **"In the meantime. I'd like you to get busy on the Brandi and Candi issue, McLoon. Soon would be good, Lieutenant," Colonel Fenix said calmly. "The sooner the better."**

 **Shirley nodded dutifully, steeling herself. "Like, yes Sir, and stuff. I'll talk with Mother right away, see what I can do." She forced herself to salute and stiffly walked out, heading across the clearing to her family home.**

 _ **Way stressful,**_ **her aura sympathised** _ **. We could use some deep relaxation, like Indian head massage.**_ **She paused, remembering** _ **. Trouble is, it's been four reincarnations since we had an Indian head.**_

 **Back in the command trailer, Angelina held out her feather-hand and from the shadows what looked like a crawling flat mitten of greasy black fur appeared – and as she wore it, vanished into her feather-hand like water soaking into sand. "You HAVE been a good boy," she crooned, communing with it. Flexing her wrist, black-glowing astral planar claws popped out.**

 **"He's gaining in energy too, I see," Calgari said. "And – in definition." The original monster had been defeated by a sorcerer and its spirit bound into the skinned paw kept as a trophy – but just as plants could re-grow from cuttings, this fragment was apparently doing much the same.**

 **"Yes, he's regenerating – recharging, in the sweetest possible way," Angelina nodded. "If you took a kirlian photo in here, you'd see his astral form is complete. On the astral plane – oh, he's definitely all there." She winked. "Even just using the claws, he's a… potent addition to the team. Very potent."**

 **Calgari turned to Colonel Fenix, who was watching them in annoyed resignation. "Sir! I know the Military don't hand out Christmas presents – but what about taking us for another little trip to the Lost Warehouse? I hear there's a whole new section of high level cursed items they're calling 'pure evil-in-a-can.'"**

" **That's right!" Angelina smiled. "But how pure is it? To what percentage? We need to test it."**

" **And all useful stuff, I'm sure," Calgari added earnestly. "I'm sure we could find some useful weapons in the fight for justice or something."**

 **"I think you're doing quite enough with what you have," the phoenix said wearily.**

 **"Oh, but Sir! If you're worried about that old-fashioned 'two wrongs don't make a right,' business, that's really not a problem anymore," Angelina protested. "I heard last week from my friends who're still at Addams Academy – our Department of Sinister and Twisted Science recently made a breakthrough; maybe two wrongs don't make a right, but they've calculated exactly how many DO."**

 **Colonel Fenix nodded resignedly. To use its full title, Addams Academy for the Sons and Daughters of Darkenesse, certainly produced its share of talented practitioners of magic – or as they spelt it, 'Magicke in ye Gothicke style'. He had often wondered if spelling Pretentious as 'Pretentiousse' was supposed to improve it. But his job was to find and use available psychic talent in a good (or at least Official) cause, and if the Addams Academy trio were not working for the Government… they would be working for someone else. Which would be far more trouble.**

 **He fixed Angelina with a determined gaze. "The good news is I agree with you." Looking at her hopeful expression, he added. "But only that – the Military really don't hand out Christmas presents. The answer is NO."**

* * *

 **Down at Lake Acme, final rehearsals were in full swing, with just a few hours to go till show-time. Mortimer was discovering just how hard being a Director was, and just how tricky it was to get his mixed and fractious classmates working together. Not for the first time he wished he had Professor Bugs' razor wits, or failing that, Professor Sam's bull-whip.**

 **"No, no," he was saying as he signalled to halt. "Gibson! You're meant to be on the same side as Granville on this! In the final scene you can't throw him out of the window to the torch-bearing mob below!"**

 **The goat sniffed. "'Can't' isn't a word I'd use, logically. If I do it, obviously I can."**

 **There was a slithering from behind Gibson; a special-effect bead of sweat suddenly appeared on his face as something cold and sharp pressed against the back of his neck.**

 _ **Be nice,**_ **Shelley's telepathic voice was heard, as the mollusc girl pressed her stinger against him, not quite piercing the skin.** _ **Stick to the script**_ **.**

 **Mortimer sighed, grateful as a grumbling Gibson recited his intended lines. "Thanks, Shelley!" There were more effective persuaders to be had than anything Professor Sam wielded, he thought.**

 _ **You're welcome**_ **, came the cheerful broadcast. Shelley raised an eyestalk to Mortimer's face.** _ **This is fun, this play!**_

 **Mortimer nodded. He suddenly experienced a strange detached sensation, looking at Shelley. By all traditions it was human Anime boys who were (reluctantly or not) boyfriends to eldritch Monster girls – evidently that meme with the tentacles went both ways. Shelley was the size of a compact car and with about as much biological compatibility, except for where she had re-shaped her mollusc body to find out what all the mammal girls were enjoying. And yet here it was – they were a couple as much as his sister Babs had been in class with Buster, and nobody seemed to find it strange any more. He nodded determinedly.** _ **That's just the way it's written – and I'll stick to the script, too.**_

 **"Right, that's their scene rehearsed. Next up, Lucretia and Marie-Sioux," Mortimer tapped the bulky binder holding the script. "I think they went to take a break. Someone go find them, please?"**

 **"I'll go," Henry Smith volunteered, heading out in the direction of Weenie-Burger which was serving as a substitute for a snack bar for the show's performers..**

 **"Seems strange, having to cast our pal Lucretia as the villainess," Gene Ericson commented. "Though like she said, she looks good in black."**

 **Mortimer scratched his head. "Lucretia… well, she probably fits the "nasty but useful friend' trope, I'd think." He paused. "She's certainly talented. A fast mover and a small target too. Won every Dodgeball contest we've ever had." In their stand-up comedy classes that was a useful skill; an unfunny stand-up who failed to duck thrown bottles and hurled fruit was soon a knock-down comic.**

 **"In next year's slapstick class they upgrade that to dodge-dynamite," Gene Erikson said. "Of course, Toon dynamite only gets you sooty, stunned and comic-effect frazzled."**

 **"I prophecy Lucretia shall upgrade it further," Casandra nodded. "To; 'dodge dynamite-in-a-glass-jar-packed-with-a-pound-of-shrapnel'. She being the thrower. Just see if I'm wrong."**

 **Mortimer frowned. "Real nasty. You'd think in an ideal world people could find better uses for pre-chopped steel." ***

 *** (Editor's note: catalogue item # 11674a, 'Munitions grade pre-fragmented metal', page 91 in the current ACME domestic catalogue 80 cents a pound for steel, item # 11674b $30/lb for tungsten cubes. "** _ **For when you want that party to really go with a bang**_ **!")**

 **Gene spotted Marie-Sioux approaching, "Better uses? I'd say Lucretia has the right idea, right now." He nodded meaningfully towards Marie-Sioux. "I overheard her phoning the Studio. She's leaked the plot of our play to the Sons of Schlesinger." People tended not to notice Gene Erikson even when he was standing right next to them; he had that kind of face and aura.**

 **"She's given away the punchline?" Mortimer gasped.**

 **Gene nodded grimly. "How low can you get? Ratting out your own class, and she's not even a rodent."**

 **"It's not the first time," Nootka said. "Last term – I saw one of the reports she was sending back to the studio. She told them half of our whole year was of under-average performance! A week later Professor Bugs got a note, I was in his office when it came. They're demanding everyone is in the top 10%, or else."**

 **Mortimer looked at his friends. "You know, Cassie – about that latest prophecy – just for once, it'd be good if it came true."**

* * *

 **In the centre of Acme Acres, despite it being Christmas Eve the public swimming pool was open until mid-morning. In it could currently be seen at the deep end three rather varied Toons – a waterfowl and two desert dwellers, one of them native to a desert far drier than anything on Earth.**

 **Calamity Coyote relaxed in the warmth, and raised a waterproof sign (chinagraph pencil effect on plastic.) Margot – you're really opening this Phobos bank at New Year? We've talked to Mary; you're the one who had the idea."**

 **"The hardware is ready, the computers on Phobos are running and the software loaded. Seems a good time to start. New year, new fortune." Margot floated lazily in the warm water, recalling much chillier waters in her years away in the wilderness. "Yes, the bank's prospectus is already out there – to a few, very particular investors. Not many."**

 **"You're not going to put an ad on Acme TV?" Marcia queried. A casual onlooker might wonder why she wore a full lifejacket in the pool; with the drying of their planet Martians had long lost the need for floating abilities and nowadays sank like rocks.**

 **Margot smiled. "I have something else in mind. At Perfecto we learned a lot of commercial and legal tricks. Like our class teams set up joint enterprises run by what they call 'tontines", sort of 'last Toon standing gets the jackpot.' And when we liquidated assets, or as you'd say, sold anything, it was usually by Dutch Auction."**

 **"Dutch Auction?" Marcia queried. "Sounds like another of your strange Earth customs."**

 **Margot nodded. She had heard that Marcia had cultural problems in her first year; she had vanished from class one afternoon and been found hours later by the Looniversity recycling bins stuck in an existential quandary, clutching an empty green glass Weenie-cola bottle. The only bottle bin said '** _ **Mixed glass only'**_ **– Marcia had carefully explained that she needed at least a second bottle of a different colour before she could put the first, single-coloured one in with it. "It's the way to go where you're in a seller's market – you start with a massive price nobody can possibly afford, and come down slowly. First bid wins; all the buyers know they only get one chance. It's the best technique for when you've really got the buyers over a barrel."**

 **Marcia frowned invisibly, looking around the pool. "I do not see this barrel you mention."**

 **Calamity shook his head in exasperation. Despite her occasional problems he was glad Marcia was reliable as a fellow scientist; before she had transferred to Acme Looniversity in their third year, it had been rather a strain being the only tech genius in class. He recalled trying to explain to Babs and Buster his extra-long-term class experiment to find out if protons ever decayed – and the difficulty of spotting if any actually had. At which Babs had helpfully suggested treating a control batch with creosote to compare it with. It worked fine on fence-posts, she had argued.**

* * *

 **Only few minutes' walk from the baths, Fifi and Rhubella LaFume were strolling through the streets of Acme Acres, admitting the Christmas displays.**

 **"That's a good thing about staying with the Bunny family – no shortage of willing babysitters," Rhubella said. "It's good to get out and about without worrying about little Gigi or Victor for an hour or two." Suddenly she stopped. Her eyes widened at the sight of the Toon a hundred yards away walking towards them, neatly dressed in the top half of a business suit with a long black overcoat of European cut. "Well. There's a rare sight."**

 **"Mon Dieu!" Fifi's whole body went rigid for a second, and her eyes went heart-shaped. "Ze 'andsome skunk-unk …. and in ze royal purple fur!"**

 **Rhubella squeezed her wife's purple paw lovingly. "Let's meet him."**

 **Fifi nodded, her eyes locked on the approaching figure and her purple-and-white body trembling. As usual, she wore nothing but a head-fur ribbon and her wedding ring, but her long fur was adequate even in the snow. "Nevair in America 'ave I seen anozair purple skunk," she whispered.**

 **Rhubella studied the target. "I think he's from out of town. Really a long way out of town. That suit just screams 'European financier.'" She paused, blushing slightly. "At Perfecto we had classes in spotting that kind of thing. He looks like a slightly updated 1940's 'film noir' movie star."**

 **Just then the skunk looked up and noticed them. He stopped, and his eyes widened slightly.**

 _ **He recognises us**_ **, Rhubella thought, recalling other Perfecto classes. It was surprising just how much Secret Agent material was useful on their curriculum, and how many competent but unemployed Agents were wandering around ready to teach tradecraft.** _ **It was like he mentally flicked through a list and pattern-matched. But I know we've never seen him before, we'd remember**_ **.**

 **"Bonjour, M'sieur," Fifi said politely. "Eet eez a rare sight, a gentleman of ze species, in Royal Purple."**

 **The skunk smiled, raising an old-fashioned Homburg hat. "Enchanted, madam," he said. His voice was deep, and had an accent that was not quite German. "Klaus von Schellenberg, at your service."**

 **"Pleased to meet you. I am Fifi Lafume, and zis is my lady Rhubella. Are vous new in town?" Fifi asked innocently.**

 **Rhubella watched the skunk's face.** _ **He didn't even twitch when he heard we're married**_ **, Rhubella noted mentally.** _ **Some guys don't like that idea. And some do. But they always react somehow – unless of course they already know**_ **. There was a quiet special-effect 'ping!' sound as she recalled just where in Europe Schellenberg was. Pieces of a jigsaw began to move into place.**

 **Klaus nodded. "But yes! I have arrived just today, in the so-famous Acme Acres. A fine town."**

 **"We like it," Rhubella nodded. "There's a very good café around the corner. If you're interested?"**

 **"I would be honoured." Klaus bowed politely, not a gesture common around Acme Acres.**

 **Two minutes later, they were pulling up chairs in the warmth of a café just across the street from the swimming pool. Klaus had insisted on buying.**

 **"Excellent coffee they serve here," Rhubella said, keeping her voice neutral. "Though they don't stock Foulplay brand – anyway, Fifi is against that kind of thing. My friend Margot Mallard loves it, though."** _ **Now, he twitched at that, just his tail tip, where he can't see it movin**_ **g, she thought, mentally nodding. "Are you here on business or pleasure?"**

 **"Business, alas! Even at this time of the year," Klaus smiled. "Some appointments cannot be delayed. And some opportunities do not arrive twice."**

 **"Zo true." Fifi breathed, the fur of her chest pounding in a heart-shaped special-effect. "Ruby and I, we 'ave been around ze world. And between us we 'ave nevair… missed ze opportunities." She looked at the handsome male, her gaze scanning him to his tail-tip, and almost imperceptibly nodded to Rhubella.**

 **"Yes, though we're back in town to catch up with our friends," Rhubella said. "Like my best friend Margot, and Fifi's friend Mary Melody."**

 **Klaus's tail went rigid for a second. Then he smiled, and sipped his coffee. "It is good, to meet old friends, this time of year," he offered.**

 _ **He's good, he's really good,**_ **Rhubella thought as she saw her guess not only hit the mark but do the equivalent of blowing the turret clean off.** _ **But he's not Perfect. Perfecto, even.**_

 **Aloud, Rhubella said "When we've finished this, we were planning to go over the road and meet up. After a long flight, I know my fur usually feels gritty. A good soak in a swimming bath often helps. Would you like to join us? We're meeting our friends there."**

 **"But yes!" Klaus's eyes lit up. "My business is not so urgent as I thought."**

 **Their drinks finished, they crossed the road, Klaus walking in the middle with Fifi and Rhubella one on each side. As Klaus headed away to the male Toons' changing rooms, Rhubella cast Fifi a wink.**

 **Fifi smiled, her purple and white tail waving as they closed their changing room door. "Mon Ruby! You are truly ze skunk-magnet! And with ze purple fur, zo rare!"**

 **Rhubella kissed her wife's broad purple nose. "That's my shtick, seems like."**

 **For a second Fifi's expression was troubled. "And 'e 'as turned up on time for Christmas." She suddenly took both her wife's hands in her own, and looked into her eyes. "Ruby. I want zis one for vous. Eet eez not fair. For vous, eet ees always to pay for ze cake and nevair eat it"**

 **Rhubella sighed. "We've been through this. I think he's nice… but if I do, it might be the end of my shtick forever. If it's only funny as long as that law of Toon Physics thinks I can't use it… and suddenly I do. No more eligible skunk-hunks turning up just when the plot calls for it."**

 **"Yes. We 'ave talked." Fifi paused. "Maybe zat will not 'appen. If eet does –" she shrugged "zen I will 'ave given my Ruby ze Christmas gift I want 'er to enjoy."**

 **Rhubella looked into Fifi's eyes. "It's been such a good shtick. Not just any two-tone males turning up at just the right time and place – but good ones. Handsome, healthy, unattached – all of them good men, not a Johnny Pew among them. Just the kind you spent years trying to find – back when your shtick was, you couldn't."**

 **"And zen I chose to marry vous," Fifi said firmly. "Eef my Ruby enjoying an 'andsome skunk 'unk for once costs us ze shtick – many Christmas presents zey are expensive, no?"**

 **Rhubella hugged her. She changed into her bathing costume, watching appreciatively as Fifi did the same. Although the skunkette had been walking around Acme Acres in the snow wearing only a hair ribbon and a wedding ring, there were traditional Toon memes to be observed.**

 **Fifi looked down at her bikini shorts, and with a slight special-effect 'pop' it was suddenly apparent she now was Unconcealed beneath them. She smiled. "Eh, zo vous cannot Conceal anyway – now we are ze marching couple, non?"**

 **"Mmm…" Rhubella's furless tail swished, as she looked at Fifi. The purple and white skunkette had always had a good figure, and carrying and nursing their cub had only put more attractive curves on her, she thought. Rhubella looked down at her own slim form, unchanged since Perfecto days, and mentally shrugged. There were pros and cons with going the stork route, she decided. "It's too chilly to hit the beach – but you'll just wow them on the poolside!" She announced happily.**

 **Stepping through to the warm steam of the (Olympic – 1 inch sized) pool, they looked around. Twenty or so Toons were there, swimming and diving – evidently getting in exercise to build up an appetite for the Christmas feasts to come. At one end they spotted Margot Mallard along with Calamity and Marcia, the Martian's ultra-black shape picked out in 3-D by the water around her. Entering from the other door was Klaus, the skunk now wearing bathing trunks but bare furred on top, the inverse of his street clothing as classical Toon tropes dictated. His purple fur was glossily healthy over a slim but well-toned body.**

 **"Very nice," Rhubella whispered. "We get to see the whole show – in instalments."**

 **"Not ze 'ole show yet, Ruby," Fifi whispered back. "'E is Concealed, naturellement." Her eyes gleamed. "For now."**

 **Rhubella waved at Margot and the two Looniversity graduates. "Merry Christmas! Great to see you!" She called over. "It's been ages!"**

 **Margot waved back, smiling as Rhubella and Fifi approached along with a tall dark purple stranger. "Come on in, the water's fine," she invited. "And plenty of room for all."**

 **"Zis ees Klaus von Schellenberg, we just met 'eem," Fifi introduced the European, who bowed deeply (odd though it looked in bathing shorts), "'E eez in town on business."**

 **"Business," Rhubella nodded significantly.**

 **"Enchanted, Mesdames," Klaus said, an astute glance taking in the platinum wedding ring on Margot's feather-finger. "Meeting these beautiful ladies I had the good fortune to combine the day's business with pleasure."**

 **Margot nodded, smiling, and without obvious grinding-gear special effect sounds as her brain raced, pinning down his accent and placing a place-name on her mental map. "Charmed, certainly. It's very good… luck, I'm sure, that brought you right here."**

 **"Luck." Rhubella caught Margot's eye, and a conspiratorial glance flashed between the two Perfecto graduates.**

 **Calamity frowned, and turned his sign so only Marcia could see it.** _ **There's something funny going on here,**_ **he signed.** _ **And I don't mean funny like Acme Loo taught us.**_

 **"My good fortune!" Klaus smiled back. "And to find Toons who are not – prejudiced." He waved depreciatingly at his skunk tail. "Many they do not like the scent."**

 **"Oh, that's no problem," Margot waved a feather-hand dismissively. "Although my sense of smell isn't as good as other Toons. Why, right here in a pool full of chlorinated water – I could swear I could smell serious money." She shook her head with a wry smile. "Just imagine that."**

 **"So. It is a common delusion, then." Klaus nodded. "For I can also."**

 **"Mmm. I hope your business goes well, whatever brought you all the way to Acme Acres," Margot said lightly. "I'm hoping to do some myself, at six o'clock today. Isn't that a coincidence?"**

 **"As you say," Klaus said politely, "One of those- coincidences. At six o'clock, too!"**

 **"And not a minute earlier," Margot said firmly. "So if you're combining business with pleasure today – you've got another eight hours before the business starts."**

 **Fifi and Rhubella surfaced on each side of Klaus, inviting smiles on their faces. The skunk looked from one to the other. "What is there to do here in Acme Acres for a few hours?" He asked theatrically.**

 **Rhubella smiled. "Half an hour of swimming, while we're here," she suggested. "And then we'll see what we can think of. Some exciting opportunity may arise."**

 **"Ah, certainment!" Fifi agreed, her eyes shining.**

 **As a rat and two skunks swam away vigorously as if to show each other their stamina, Marcia Martian shook her head in bafflement. "Earth Toons are strange," she sighed.**

* * *

 **At lunchtime Babs returned to her old family burrow, with Buster carrying little Blitz in the backpack cub-carrier.**

 **"Hello, dear," her mother, Mrs Bathsheba Zoe Bunny, smiled as she welcomed them at the burrow entrance. "Well, and very welcome to my first grand-child. Thank you, Babs, Buster."**

 **"It was a pleasure, Ma'm," Buster deadpanned. "Though I have to admit – sometimes it's been a pretty hare-raising experience".**

 **"And here's the pretty hare we're raising." Babs snickered, as Buster unslung the cub carrier and handed Blitz over for doting inspection. "Handsome, rather. Is everyone here, mom?"**

 **"Nearly – except for Mortimer, he's away in rehearsals with his class and his girlfriend." Bathsheba Bunny said. She looked round conspiratorially, well aware of the power of rabbit ears and burrow acoustics. "This time next year, I'm hoping for some more grandchildren. Your sisters Jenny and Katy have been having an interesting time of things. Taking up that new fashion – seeing how compatible a fox todd is with a bunny girl."**

 **"Who'd have thought Disney would be into a thing like that?" Buster marvelled.**

 **Babs nodded. "It's all the rage in Hollywood," she said. Suddenly she struck a contemplative pose. "Of course, even in the old days it's never been such a bad idea… showing a big, fierce canine there's better things you can do with a willing doe than eat her."**

 **Her mother smiled. "Then some unlucky girls find out they are – not compatible." Her ears semaphored in lepine code -** _ **And the rest are Knot-compatible**_ **.**

 **Babs stepped back in mock outrage. "Mom! Saying that back in class… that'd have got me sent straight to the Principal!"**

 **"Well, they have their Principles, and I have mine. I'm sure you could plead you were rehearsing for biology class," her mother said in a prim voice, and spoilt it by winking. "Lepine does are compatible with most species. We have class biology."**

" **Binky Bunny, she's married to Mean Gene Wolverine, and he hasn't eaten a rabbit girl since," Buster said.**

" **At least… not in a way she'd object to, I'm sure," Babs said innocently.**

 **Her mother smiled, dropping her voice still further. "Just to make things interesting, Katy and Jenny are quarrelling over the same fox. Or so they think."**

 **"So they think?" Babs' mind raced, as a caffeinated brain honed over years of Acme Looniversity's finest education crunched plot data like carrots. A slow smile spread over her features. "Oh no. Not that old gag. Identical twins? I can spot that a mile away, downwind."**

 **Bathsheba winked. "Yes, but not everyone's had your training, dear. Better get your camera ready; I expect both brothers will turn up for the party tonight. Katy and Jenny's expression might make good photos when they find out."**

" **As in, Jenny and Katy suddenly think, which of the brothers have they been with? Or maybe it was both? How can they ever really know?" Babs mused. "These parties are always a good time for a grand plot denouement. Dramatic stuff."**

 **"The fur will fly," Buster suggested.**

 **Bathsheba Zoe Bunny considered the idea. "Well, maybe. I've plenty of daughters unattached still. Maybe one of them will prefer dating bats, or avians. Super-heroes, even. Then the fur really will fly."**

 **"Hmm," Babs thought hard. "That, or if a couple of jealous vixens (informally betrothed to the todd-fox twins at birth by their families, by plot tradition) turn up wanting Jenny and Katy's lucky rabbit's feet in compensation."**

 **"Thinking fair exchange is no robbery – and a bit of bunny is a good swap for losing a whole hunk of fox," Buster mused, as they walked together into the main burrow.**

 **"Quite so. It'd be interesting having foxes in the family tree someday," Bathsheba said. "Just when other predators think they've got the better of us – we can outfox them."**

 **Buster cast Babs a wry glance, which she caught deftly.** _ **I can see where you get it from**_ **, his ears signalled.**

 _ **What can I say**_ **? Babs semaphored back with a dainty shrug.** _ **It's a family thing**_ **.**

 **After a couple of hours catching up with her mother and siblings (minus Mortimer) Babs and Buster knocked on the airlock door leading to Fifi's annexe.**

 **"Babs! Bustair!" Fifi's purple tail went up in delight as she opened the door. "It ees super to see vous! And petite Blitz."**

 **"I guess we haven't time for another gratuitous shower scene?" Rhubella deadpanned. "Oh well, maybe later."**

 **"We 'ave just said au revoir to some… welcome company, both Ruby and moi," Fifi said. "Ooh la la! Ze first shower, eet was tres necessaire."**

 **Babs grinned, her keen nose telling her a lot about her friends' afternoon, and quite a bit about a third party. "Good timing, Feef. We're all going down to Lake ACME in forty minutes; Four o'clock is Mortimer's big show. Then back here, the party starts at seven." Her eyes grew misty. "My little brother. Directing his first musical, and he's only in the second year."**

 **"You are lucky, Babs, 'aving all your relatives togethair, nearby" Fifi said. "Eet eez ze long trip back to la belle France, for poor Fifi to see 'ers."**

 **"With one exception," Rhubella smiled, holding up her paw so the wedding ring sparkled.**

" **Naturellement." Fifi blushed. "But ze others, some I 'ave not seen all year. Like mon uncle Pierre, ze one 'oo wanted to join ze Church," Fifi reminisced. "And 'e 'ad some of ze right qualities, zey said."**

 **"I'll bet. Put a skunk priest in a nice air-tight confessional booth with any sinner and seal the curtains tight – in a minute anyone would confess to anything, just to get out!" Babs said.**

 **"Zat ees not ze idea," Fifi said, her tail swishing. "Not 'ow zey measure such things to get ze confessions."**

 **Babs shrugged. "I'm sure it'd work for the police." She briefly spin-changed into a punk form sporting a T-shirt exhorting readers to – '** _ **Help the Police – beat yourself up**_ **!'**

 **"Uncle Pierre, 'e wished only to be an 'umble village Curé, a vicar as vous say. But 'e nevair got ze job and ze cool black 'at," Fifi said sadly.**

 **"Some peoples' conditions are just in-Curé-able," Babs winked, spin-changing back. "Like they used to say about Plucky's version of Captain Jerk in Duck Trek – '** _ **any humble farmer's wife can cure a ham, but all the future's technology can't cure a ham actor'**_ **."**

 **"You got lucky, having each other pretty much script-written to be together from the beginning," Rhubella looked at Babs and Buster. "Shirley just got Plucky."**

 **"Not for long she didn't," Buster said flatly. There was an uncomfortable silence. Then the blue buck shrugged. "Well, he's happier with Margot, someone who isn't blasting him to a crispy duck every time he tries anything fresh with her."**

 **Rhubella snickered. "I know Margot. She's into things I bet Plucky had never even heard of. She's 'educated' him since, you bet. And 'fresh'? She's as likely to complain her Sushi's too fresh. Not going to happen."**

" **Shirley can't compete on those lines – not that she ever wanted to," Buster said.**

" **Mmm. She knows. I remember Shirley said she was going to let Plucky go. Then refused to marry him, even when their eggs came along," Babs reflected. "Some folk just weren't meant to be together. And some are." She squeezed her buck's cottontail affectionately.**

" **Certainment!" Fifi agreed, her huge purple tail curling around Rhubella. "I 'ope your sister she 'as found ze one for 'er, even eef eet will cause 'er problems at Perfecto." She smiled. "Variola she 'as better taste zan I would think, eef 'er friend eez a skunk aussi."**

" **Skunkette," Rhubella added. "I've not met her. But they're due to come over any time. We invited them for Mortimer's show."**

" **I've not seen him at all this holiday," Babs said. "Got to congratulate him on his good grades."**

 **Buster struck a dramatic pose. "They say that virtue is its own reward. And a poor grade in Anvil Dodging… is its own punishment. I've never met Variola, or her friend."**

 **Rhubella gave an embarrassed grin. "Umm… if you meet any other Perfectos, except Margot – better not mention Clara."**

" **They don't approve of that kinda thing?" Buster raised an eyebrow.**

 **Rhubella shrugged. "Variola having a girlfriend rather than a boyfriend, no problem. Clara being short of money, status, exploitable connections… if the others find out that's a big Problem, with a capital P."**

" **Or even two or three – a Patently Perfecto Problem!" Babs said brightly. "Ah, the punitive price of pernickety perfection. But that's what they're into."**

" _ **When you're with the 'In' crowd, you know what the 'In' crowd know / When you're with the 'In' crowd, you go where the 'In' crowd go**_ **/** _ **We got our own way of... walkin'. We got our own way of… talkin'**_ **," Buster sang, spin-changing into a neo-retro-trendy mid-1970's white dinner jacket as he channelled Brian Ferry. "** _ **With the 'In' crowd**_ **!"**

 **Just at that instant the doorbell rang. Fifi looked at the monitor showing who was standing by the burrow hatch on the surface. "Eh, and right on time," she nodded, turning on the door speakers. "Bonjour Variola, et Clara! We will be right up." The rest followed her up the access tunnel.**

 **Outside the annexe entrance, two warmly clad figures awaited them in the snow. Variola wore a long duvet jacket in the height of that term's Perfecto fashion (padded with Foulplay ™ unsustainably-sourced Antarctic Emperor penguin chick down) and held paws with a Toon unfamiliar to Fifi and her friends. "Merry Christmas! This is Clara," Variola announced, gently pulling her companion forward.**

 **Clara pulled back the hood of an old but lovingly cared-for skiing jacket that looked as if it had been bought a decade ago for someone much taller. She was a slender black and white furred skunkette, younger than Fifi and with few of Fifi's lush curves – indeed she looked rather too thin and pinched, not with the expensive elegance of a deliberate dieter. "Hi," she waved shyly. "I've been hearing about you."**

 **Babs winked. "I'll bet. Welcome to the madhouse!"**

" **What do vous do, Clara?" Fifi asked, intrigued.**

" **I work at Acme Acres' Excessively_Technical college, on the far side of town," Clara said. "I – clean up."**

" **You're making a fortune, really cleaning up? Buster said, impressed. "Good for you. I can see why a Perfecto girl appeals, they're all into high-stakes stuff."**

 **Clara shook her head. "Umm, no, I really – clean the place up. With mops and vacuum cleaners."**

 **Babs elbowed her buck. "Like Pete Puma," she hissed under her breath, recalling Acme Looniversity's dim yet cheerful janitor.**

 **Variola looked slightly embarrassed, a rare sight. "I've been seeing a few places I've not been to before. I even had lunch at Weenie-burger."**

" **And lived to tell the tale," Rhubella nodded, impressed. "Rat genetics make us immune to most things, but that's pushing it."**

" **Ooh, practicing for the Olympic slumming team, are we?" Babs said slyly.**

" **We go halves on everything, when we go out," Clara said firmly, holding hands tight with her rat. "I don't let Variola pay for everything."**

 **Babs and Buster exchanged glances.** _ **I bet that smarts, for Variola… her precious money's no good with Clara. There's one skunkette who's just not for sale, in any way, shape or form,**_ **Babs' ears semaphored in lepine code.**

 _ **A gold-digger, they could understand, at Perfecto, they expect that kind of thing**_ **, Buster's ears signalled agreement.** _ **They have classes in Asset Acquisition, even**_ **. He looked at Variola nonchalantly. "So, at Perfecto I hear you're all into L-pop, after finishing with K-pop as soon as other Toons got into it?"**

 **Variola turned her nose up haughtily. "Please! L-pop is So 'last week' now. That old Livonian sound? I think a few of our Sports Scholars might still go for it. They would." At Perfecto, 'Sports Scholars' were the exception to the school's usual exclusive standards of wealth and status, being mostly knuckle-dragging heavies brought in for the dirty work, for whom brains were not thought a desirable feature.**

 **"Where's Livonia? I've never heard of it," Buster said.**

 **A rat smirked. "Quite. I'm in the leading clique in class, of course, and now we only dance to Tactical Eurobeat."**

 **"Can't say I've heard of that one either," Buster scratched his head-fur.**

 **Variola smiled, looking down her muzzle pityingly at him. "I'm not at all surprised. Not many have. There's only two groups playing it so far, and they're both in a certain small town that we know of in Southern Ruthenia. You need a specially customised Tumansky R-29 bis turbine-electric zither, to get the correct sound."**

 **"Oh, specially customised of course. Not just normally customised. Can't risk being spotted listening to any incorrect sounds, can you?" Babs put in snidely. "That wouldn't be very Perfecto."**

 **"No, it wouldn't," Variola said smugly, her snout raised snootily. For a second the two champions of their respective memes stood staring defiantly at each other, while a special-effects sound as of missile silo doors grinding open played from somewhere ill-defined.**

 **"Now, now, you two. Christmas truce." Rhubella stepped between them. "Anyway, it's almost time for the play, then the party. We'd best get our cubs over to the main nursery next door and settled down." She turned to Babs. "Have your family got everything ready?"**

" **Yes. With some surprising help. Surprising we'd ever accept it." Babs gave a wry smile. "I looked into the nursery room an hour ago, saw a dozen cubs in diapers crawling over someone underneath. Then I had a shock – Elmyra sat up! It was like seeing a submarine coming up just where you don't expect it. She'd been bunny-sitting all afternoon, submerged in cubs like a kid buried in a ball pool, happy as anything." It had been difficult to focus on anyone in such a room, the inherent QuanToon fuzziness of so many cubs overlapping and showing confusing interference patterns and diffraction fringes like a cloaking field (or in their case, a security-blanket field.) Rabbit nurseries needed thick walls, not just for soundproofing; the fuzziest of cubs had their positions defined only as a Circular Error of Probability several yards across, that could put them outside the walls of a standard burrow.**

 **Buster winced. "Who'd a thought it? The world does change. A year or two back, that'd have been like getting Mister Hitcher to baby-sit. In a fully appointed kitchen with racks of handy knives, autonomous giant cheese-graters and walk-in bacon-slicers. And a recipe for hasenpfeffer on the wall."**

 **"Elmyra, on ze side of good," Fifi marvelled. "Ze bounty-'unting weapon of justice. Whatevair weapon she eez, she eez certainment not ze Smart Bomb."**

 **"The world really changed for the better when Elmyra's hormones finally kicked in. Must have sent quite some shockwave round the world." Babs snickered. "I'll bet scientists from Australia to KazakhsToon were bounced out of bed by the shock, ran to their instruments yelling '** _ **what was THAT?**_ **' I even managed to have something almost like a conversation with her."**

 **"That's another difference," Buster marvelled. "Used to be, she just wanted us for squeeze-toys." Had Elmyra been an engineer, she would have specialised in Testing to Destruction. A large Pet Cemetery behind the Duff family home was packed with memorials to such successful tests.**

 **Babs spin-changed into a frighteningly recognisable form with a red wig, and put on her most sickeningly cutesy Classic Elmyra voice. "** _ **Bunny babies! So cute and fuzzy and indeterminate.**_ _ **Ooh… I just love those cuddly-wuddly rabbits… every sort of rabbits in the whole wide world.**_ **" She giggled scarily, and sang:** _ **"I like bunnies, I like kitties, hug dem into itty bitties…."**_

 **"And she did. Literally. Has a graveyard the size of a football field to prove it," Rhubella shuddered. "I've seen it."**

 **"And what sort of rabbits do you like the very best of all?" Buster fed Babs/Elmyra the line.**

 **Babs/Elmyra paused, scratching her head as if she worked hard at intense calculations. Suddenly a 1-watt low energy bulb manifested dimly glowing above her head in the brightest notion she had had all year. "** _ **Really… bunny, Bunny rabbits! The bunnier the better!**_ **" She declared, a look of idiotic bliss on her face. "** _ **So cute and so fuzzy!**_ _ **They go hippity-hop, hippity-hop, hippity-hop * until… until..."**_ **She broke off, one finger pressed to her lip with a familiar Elmyra look of confusion.**

 *** (Editor's note: 'hippity-hop' is not the rabbit version of hip-hop. Not even if performed by a hippy rabbit rapping in a hop plantation.)**

 **"Until the living envy the dead? Until space and time collapse in a twisted, burning wreck?" Variola suggested slyly.**

 **The Babs/Elmyra mix nodded, giggling.**

 **"But now?" Buster prompted as Babs mercifully spun back to normal. "As Rymela, Toon of Mystery, she's got that big dumb buck George to squeeze her like a trash compactor, and she's into that. Definitely the shallow end of the lepine gene pool is George, but it's like he was specially scripted for her by the Great Scriptwriter in the sky."**

 **Both rabbits instinctively paused and looked up, as if expecting to see a comment via sign-writing or conveniently arranged clouds. The skies remained suspiciously clear. "I'll take that as a firm '** _ **we neither confirm nor deny**_ **'", Buster mused, his long rabbit ears hearing echoes off an invisible Fourth Wall. "It's a bit of a giveaway though – Elmyra finding a job she actually gets paid to run down fleeing Toons and hug them till they stop struggling." He paused. "Still – if George did it – squish! Messy. And no bounty, if they only get paid to bring them in alive."**

 **"He's not what any doe would call a quality rabbit, but in quantity he's good value. Like buying in bulk. More bang for your buck," Babs quipped. "Elmyra's buck, I mean – and she's welcome to him. Though I hear he's got plenty of bang, whatever else he's short of."**

 **"So, what's the red-headed menace up to these days?" Buster asked. "Not that she ever really was a red-head. No question about the menace bit."**

 **"Being jealous of the rest of the Elmyra Swarm. She showed me the family pics on her phone – it's quite some family these days. Apart from her, every one of the swarm's carried two litters the biological way, all pure-strain rabbits by the look of them. Funnily enough, in their oldest litter all the cubs look so much like George." Babs paused meaningfully. "And I know they all… got to know him, last time they were here. About two litter's worth of time ago."**

 **"Must be one of those 'coincidences' you hear about." Buster deadpanned. "You wouldn't have thought he was the type to play away. Or maybe that's just the story being put out for the dear public. Never judge a buck by its cover."**

 **"Quite." Babs exchanged a knowing look with her blue buck. "Elmyra's been working hard all year bounty-hunting. Or more like Rymela, International Toon of Mystery is saving up her share of the bounties to buy plenty of diapers, for when she needs them." Babs snickered. "And from the look on her face with a dozen baby bunnies crawling over her… oh boy, she means to need them. You could practically hear the switch click. George isn't in for a relaxing Christmas break."**

 **"Couldn't happen to a nicer buck," Buster nodded. "What with Elmyra and George, Mary with her herd, and Mitzi Avery with Dizzy Devil... looks like the next generation of Toons round here are all going to be wearing all-natural, cruelty-free fur coats. With the sort of tails you don't buy from a tailor." She had seen Mitzi on a live TV show with the band that week, and suspected the beautiful human would have a happy press announcement to make fairly soon with her Tasmanian Devil boyfriend. Mitzi was looking so radiant it had saved the studio a fair amount in lighting coats.**

 **"The best kind. And why not? It's all the fashion, as chosen by the discerning human girls in our class. And Elmyra." Babs squeezed her buck's white cottontail affectionately. "After all, fuzzy babies are cuter than human ones. It's only logical."**

 **"A fashionable thing, fuzzy logic," Buster mused. "There's probably a joke somewhere about inheriting hairstyles. Hare-styles, in Elmyra's case. And Mary started off in our class films wearing a pony-tail; now her daughter's got an equine tail." The idea of George's rabbit cubs inheriting Elmyra's hairlessness was definitely a horror-film trope and not a comedic one, he thought wryly.**

 **"We'll run it up the flagpole, see who salutes – and who throws mud pies." Babs suggested.**

 **"Used to be Elmyra who made those gourmet, low-calorie, mineral-rich mud pies. To feed her lucky, lucky captives – I mean pets." Buster's ears went down at the memory.**

 **"Well. It's not mud pies she's into getting these days," Babs said knowingly.**

 **From somewhere ill-defined there came a strange special-effect sound like tortured metal, as if they were in a deep-diving submarine with the hull about to buckle.**

 **"What's that?" Variola looked around in alarm.**

 **"Happens a lot around Babs," Buster shrugged. "It's the sound of a strained 'R' rating, one step away from breaking point."**

 **"And it's my professional duty to see I never take that final step…" Babs paused for a comedy beat "When there's any cameras watching!"**

 **Variola snickered, and pulled out a small grey box with a green winking tell-tale light showing it was switched on. "Go ahead. I've got a camera jammer. My clique use them all the time at Perfecto, even when we're not in Deniable Studies class."**

 **"Where there's signs at the entrance warning '** _ **video images are being recorded for entertainment and possible blackmail purposes'**_ **," Rubella reminisced. "See, Fifi? We can be honest when it suits us."**

 **Fifi rolled her eyes. "Eh, zat place." She and Rhubella briefly returned to the burrow to drop their cubs off in the crèche next door with Babs' siblings and cousins watching over them. Constant watch was needed; without an observer they would stay in a QuanToon fuzzy state and reappear in busy corridors yards away. Elmyra had mercifully finished her shift and departed, with the idea of fuzzy bunny babies filling what passed for a mind.**

 **Variola shrugged, turning to Babs. "I first got it to use on the exclusive San Tropez nudist beach. None of my family can 'conceal' – to get a good even sun-tan and baffle all the paparazzi, we once used those Japanese virtual bikinis – the ones that make the relevant bits come out on film as a coarse pixelated blob. This jammer is a greatly evolved version, of course. Even keeps up with me when I dance at four hundred beats a minute to Tactical Eurobeat."**

 **Babs spin-changed into a Perfecto outfit. "Tactical Eurobeat? You do have a good memory, dear. That is SO half-past-ten-this-morning!" She drawled languidly, imitating Variola. "Anyone who's anyone these days is utterly, utterly into Strategic Madagascan Thrash-core!"**

 **Variola sniffed contemptuously, and a special-effects sound as of arming switches being thrown and safety catches disengaging, rang out from nowhere easily resolved.**

 **Babs spin-changed back and looked at her watch as Fifi and Rhubella returned. "Time's a-wasting, guys. My family are already on the way down to Mortimer's show."**

" **Oui! Eet should be ze big event of ze year. And zo many of us are 'ere to see eet. Shame about ze absent friends." Fifi said. "Though eef Gogo Dodo and ze family were 'ere, zere could be ze problems with ze crèche."**

" **I wonder what a baby dodo/machine tool mix looks like" Buster mused. "They say Dodo's partner takes up half a factory floor, and eats industrial 3-phase power. She can squeeze forged TiToonium billets the size of a railway sleeper like they were toothpaste."**

 **They all stepped aside as a wide-eyed 'forcibly retired' Character Design artist ran past, shrieking wildly and flailing the loose straps of his strait-jacket. In close pursuit were three sturdy Toons in white medical scrubs, all carrying the traditional giant butterfly-nets.**

 **Babs nodded appreciatively, watching as the classic chase scene receded into the distance. There were reasons their mentors' original films were called Loony Tunes, she reflected, giving the assembled Toons an alarming grin (at no extra charge). "Now. We've got half an hour to get down to the lakeside, and see if my family's left any seats for us. Then…" she took a deep breath – "IT'S SHOWTIME!"**

 **[Fourth Commercial break]**


	5. Chapter 5

Simon Barber Passing the Torch: A Not-So-Tiny Toons Christmas Special 27

 **Chapter Five**

 **Shirley wasted no time, and web-footed through the snow to her family home. She waved. "Like, hi Mom!" She spotted her mother packing away a folding sacrificial altar. "Visitors dropped by?"**

 **"Yes, dear. An avatar of that nice Babylonian god Marduk called round. You remember him from your incarnation in Ur of the Chaldees?" Melicent McLoon smiled. She was on first-name terms with divinities and daemons of several pantheons; often the divinities of one bunch were labelled daemons by their rival religions irrespective of their true natures.**

 **"Fer sure." Shirley nodded. "Back then I was High Priestess to Ishtar, but Marduk dropped in to like, commune with her sometimes. Not mondo often. Didn't like all the burning aromatic herbs and resins at our temple." Even after all these years, she loved the scent of sandalwood joss sticks.**

 **"Some deities don't. Try it in their temple and they get highly incensed," Melicent agreed. She looked appraisingly at her daughter; Shirley was standing uncomfortably, shifting from one webbed foot to the other, very unlike her normal balanced poise. "What's on your mind?"**

 **Shirley winced. "Brandi and Candi."**

 **Her mother held up a feather-hand. "Not your department, dear."**

 **Two loons stood facing each other for a few seconds. Shirley sighed. "And it's totally not my idea. Colonel Fenix laid down these way heavy orders, 'kay, Mom? And while I'm in this uniform…" She looked down sourly at the traffic warden's black jacket and high-visibility orange vest.**

 **"Mmmm. That is a problem. Cup of tea, dear?" Melicent nodded, conjuring a pot of steaming oolong and two porcelain cups. "Dear Hal gets his orders too. Straight from General Snafu."**

 **"And he gets it from that grody President Hitcher dude," Shirley said sourly. "Who is ultimately my boss too. Mega bad karma."**

 **"I knew Private Snafu, even before he enlisted," Melicent reminisced. "He was a cheerful Toon back then. And he stayed that way despite everything, right till the end of the War, when he had his little accident trying to finesse the paperwork to get demobilised early so he could marry his girl. She's Mitzi Avery's maiden aunt, you know – and she's still waiting." She paused. "Dear Snafu always was popular with some lovely ladies; it amazed a lot of folk."**

 **Shirley's beak twisted. "Colonel Fenix told me all about him. Lots of people want to stay in the military, but get the push anyway. He screwed things up SO bad he can't even get fired. That does not give me mondo confidence in our Commander."**

 **Melicent poured the tea, passing her daughter a cup. "Now. My grand-daughters." She smiled fondly. "They're quite sweet in their way. Even if their way is about as direct as a hungry shark in mid-ocean." She sighed. "I do wish you'd left them alone, dear. History took rather a blow when you erased everything Plucky was meant to give them."**

 **Shirley's bill wrinkled. "Like, all 27 of his major character flaws?"**

 _ **We counted them one weekend**_ **, her aura said grimly.** _ **Laid out a harmonious 77-step plan where he could start fixing them. But did he do it?**_

 **Melicent looked steadily at her daughters. "That boy really loved you, Shirley."**

 **Shirley winced. "He even insulted your hairdo, Mother – called it after some major uncool jet bomber."**

 **Melicent raised an eyebrow, reaching up and patting her towering piled head-feathers. "A B-52, maybe? He's absolutely right, there – when I was young that's just what the style was called." Seeing her daughters (both solid and astral) recoil in shock, she pressed her attack as if setting up for a bombing run. "In fact, there's a prophecy about Brandi and Candi."**

 **Shirley rolled her eyes in disgust. "Another prophecy? I am SO sick of those things. So, it's another totally obscure, ambiguous doggerel brewed from, what was it, '** _ **the raving shrieks of madmen, the visions of inspired dreamers and the latest fashionable theories of modern cosmologists**_ **'?"**

 **Her mother shook her head. "Actually, Marduk told me himself. You're going to get one chance at this. The prophecy was very plain and clear for once."**

 **Shirley waited, till her astral self started impatiently tapping an ectoplasmic webbed foot. "And?" She queried.**

 **Melicent sighed. "And you're not allowed to know what it is. That would make things too easy."**

 **"Then why even tell me?" Shirley asked, exasperated.**

 **"Because I can tell you – where and when you need to be. In the clearing where the two power lines cross, by Lake Acme, in thirty minutes time." Melicent smiled. "Just enough time to finish your tea."**

 **Shirley and her aura gave a synchronised sigh.** _ **It must be something rubbing off from all her daemonology,**_ **Shirley tight-beamed to her sympathetic twin.** _ **At times, Mom can be damned annoying.**_

* * *

 **Just outside in the yard, in the shade of the gothic spires of the loon household, the gothic graduates of Addams Academy were relaxing in Angelina's trailer, admiring the décor of holographic screaming skull wallpaper and looking over briefing notes for their next mission. Playing in the background was Addams' Academy's school song, the low, sinister organ chords seeming to echo from hidden crypts of eldritch terror. 'Ambient gloom' was a big thing at their old school.**

 **"Ah. Working over the Christmas holidays. No rest for the wicked, or even for us," Calgari sighed. Pulling out his air guitar, he strummed and sang an ancient ballad loosely attributed to Saint Thomas of Lehrer:**

 **"** _ **Kill the turkeys, ducks and chickens! Spike the punch and rubbish old Dickens**_

 _ **Even through the prospect sickens, brother, here we go again…**_

 _ **On Christmas day, we all get sore, our fellow Toons we just abhor**_

 _ **And vow to rob them tenfold more, the other three hundred and sixty-four…"**_

 **His comrades chuckled appreciatively, as they scanned through the written notes.**

 **"It says here, there's a new Japanese process to make endangered-species whale meat look and taste just like organic tofu," Angelina noted. "It'd be fun to feed that to Shirley, just to see the look on her face when you tell her the next day."**

 **"We'll try it on the trip, pencil it in under 'in-flight entertainments,'" Calgari said. "Not for her, of course, but for us."**

 **"Mmm," Angelina smiled, her sharp beak open hungrily in anticipation. "But first, there's a big new section on official military stuff, I see."**

 **"Yes, I've read it. The Japanese Self-Defence Force aren't happy with modern tactics," Calgari said. "They want more style, you know. Glorious Mecha charges, with the final battle decided between the giant Mecha-riding champions of each army squaring off and slogging it out with their forty-foot power swords in front of the paused battle ranks."**

 **"Full-on Samurai slugfest, take out whole cities in collateral damage!" Tlalocopa enthused. "That's more like it. More film-worthy."**

 **"It takes two sides to agree to battle that way," Angelina observed. "We can wish them good luck with that."**

 **"And they're leading the world in Unconventional warfare," Calgari noted. "They have a special Zen unit, specialise in what they call 'Wu Wei' – 'Doing by not doing.' Everyone expects military units to go for the obvious targets – not them." There was a picture of the special forces unit parachuting onto an entirely different continent than the actual target, and Not Doing a whole host of things, precisely timed to the split second. "The Chaos Butterfly effects can be devastating."**

 **"That's Unconventional for you!" Angelina nodded appreciatively.**

 **"And we might be there next month, si!" Tlalocopa grinned. "I study the file on this Wasawara Corporation. Muy modern! First company in Japan to be run by Artificial Malevolence construct! Sure we get along with it fine. Maybe plug Shirley into mind/machine direct communion, see who go mad first."**

 **"Maybe she'll break it. Maybe it'll break her. Maybe they'll wipe each other out." Calgari paused, considering. "You know, I don't see a down-side anywhere."**

 **"Should be good. Things are looking up all round for the new year. Even the food's improving. Tlalocopa here already has proper goat's blood MRE rations, and we just might get some Corvid ethnic entrees next," Angelina said. "These regular issue meatballs in gelatine aren't bad, but nothing like real eyeballs." She looked at the Quartermaster's newsletter on her military T-pad; amongst the new season's range of ethnic MREs was one for those of adopted French culture, officially titled '** _ **Ze stinky garlic Spam**_ **.'**

" **Yes, it's almost that time of year again. I've got Shirley's present wrapped and ready for tomorrow," Calgari said. "It's a useful book, '** _ **101 cool new games to play on the subway tracks'.**_ **"**

 **"Neat! I got her a handy book too – '** _ **Explosive Ordnance Disposal for Dummies**_ **.' Bought it remaindered. Maybe that edition has a few little printing errors, they missed out the word 'Don't' a few times," Angelina nodded. "But hey, I'm sure it won't matter much."**

 **"Mmm. She might end up making good use of her donor card either way, if we're lucky." Calgari smiled. "The much, much better one we upgraded for her." He hoped the conscientious loon had not checked her card recently – the one he had telekinetically swapped it for looked almost identical, but now read 'Doner Card.' After all, he mused, if it was ever needed Shirley would have no further use for her material body, and the Fraudulent Lebanese Takeaway next door did an inspiring range of grilled meat Doners and other kebabs. "Waste not want not", he reflected. "Shirley surely approves of wholefoods, and of organic recycling. With her ethically strict diet she qualifies as a free-range wholefood in her own right!"**

 **"Organic and free-range poultry, fer sure," Angelina agreed. "Humanely culled? Well, no need to go that far."**

 **"I got her a President Hitcher T-shirt for Serial Killer Pride Week. It say '** _ **Some people are axe-murderers. Get over it**_ **.' Shirley say she into Respect, it good to see her wearing it Christmas. And after Japan, what say we take some leave, go see New York?" Tlalocopa suggested.**

" **President Hitcher is a modern, broad-minded cosmopolitan leader," Calgari said proudly. "Our Chief of Staff. An axe handle probably counts as a staff, anyway. He's unprejudiced all the way." He paused, and winked. "Except against freaks, deviants and weirdos, of course."**

 **"Got to have some standards," Angelina agreed. "And hey, he's into balance and harmony, just like our dear loopy loon. Really. Like if you always cry at weddings, make up for it by giggling at funerals."**

 **"New York sounds good," Calgari said. "There's plans to modernise some of the old tourist attractions – like the one they're renaming the Vampire State Building."**

" **Not been there since incarnation in 1920's," Tlalocopa reminisced. "Fun time to be there, the Wall Street Crash! It raining stockbrokers, out the skyscraper windows. I sat and watched for hours. More fun than a train wreck."**

 **"Happy days," Calgari smiled, a far-away look in his eyes.**

 **Angelina's eyes gleamed. "I'd love to have seen that. Let's see if we can hack the financial news channels, make it look like it's all happening again." She winked. "And this time, we'll have web cameras all set up and ready."**

 **"A fine plan," Calgari nodded, considering it. "We can set up a pay-for-view channel on Dark ToonTube, call it the 'panoramic pavement pizza parade.' Make a fortune."**

 **Just then, their feathers (and whatever the unknowable chupacabra had) bristled as with a huge static charge. Angelina's beak opened wide in surprise. "Well! Something big's firing up, high-energy sorcery style. Let's see if we can get a piece of that action."**

 **"Right!" Calgari pulled out his regulation issued Mil-spec divining rod, though the divinities he had ritually consecrated it to were somewhat non-regulation. Studying the directional bearing, he nodded abruptly. "That way!"**

 **Swallowing her tea as fast as was harmonious, Shirley McLoon had bid her mother a hasty farewell and hurried out through the snow. Memories of her dream kept surfacing, of her daughters pressing a hidden cosmic reset button – much as Plucky had accidentally done on his NumbMindo console the only time he ever reached the final level of Star Wing Commander XV. The egotistical mallard had been complaining for hours about that – speculating the game state must have gone 'somewhere' and someone else would get to find and steal the results of his skill.**

 _ **It's not like that**_ **, her aura said flatly.** _ **Where does the light go when it's out? Same place**_ **.**

 **"And… I can feel a huge power surge building in the Farce." Shirley's feathers were bristling with static charge even before she entered the clearing – the open space where the State's main two power lines crossed, having built right over an ancient ley line and an Indian burial mound just for good measure (the Indian involved, a Mr. Chandra, had come to California from Bangalore to work building the railways in the 1870's). She skidded to a stop, recognising two loon chicks standing in the middle of a dome of glowing energy.**

 _ **It can't be them! They're far too old to be our hatchlings! They should only be about six, not ten**_ **! Her aura gasped, her ectoplasmic form flickering violently in the waves of force already emanating from the spell.**

 **"It's them, fer sure," Shirley whispered. "While we were away, they must have gone back to that fast-running time-stream they were hatched on. A coupla months over there would do it." She recalled the prophetic dream with a shudder – on waking she had tried to reassure herself that even if it someday threatened to come true, she would have years to prepare herself. She had been wrong. "It's all going down right now."**

 **Just as in her dream, two pairs of eyes turned to lock in her direction, and Shirley winced as a mental probe more powerful than anything she had ever experienced drilled right through her psychic barriers. She felt her mind being dispassionately read. As she opened her bill to protest, a wave of power held her body locked rigid.**

 **"It too late now." Candi said flatly. "We already started."**

 **Shirley's aura went rigid in shock, tracing the spell. Already the power cables above were fuming and dripping – the liquid air freezing on their ultra-cold surface and dropping off to the ground below.** _ **Mondo chain reaction! It's going to totally go down – and I can't stop it!**_

 **"You don't have to do this," Shirley pleaded. "Fer sure, the world's a mess, but… totally hitting the reset button isn't the way."**

 **"It will work." Brandi locked an icy gaze at her biological mother. She narrow-cast an image of sprawling parking lots, poisoned lands of industrial dereliction, freeways and tract housing – and then showed a clean, empty world, with a few tribes wandering out of the Amazon and the Australian outback happy that the world was suddenly a quieter place. "It is right. So we do it." She transmitted a view of the plan – a self-sustaining spell would drop the temperature of power lines to superconducting temperature, and used the saved energy to spread out around the world, freezing open relays in position before anyone could shut them down. For an instant the world would be one net of enormous energy – which would flow straight back to power the main spell, right there in the clearing.**

 **Shirley hesitated. She had spent most of her current incarnation complaining about exactly the kind of things her hatchlings proposed to put right. The prophetic dream she recalled – and realised it was not the first time she had seen the end of a world. An idea suddenly sprang to mind. "You can do – better!"**

 **"How?" The twins demanded, in perfect sync, while all around them the power lines hissed and crackled with solid oxygen and nitrogen now sheathing the cables cooling to absolute zero. A dimensional portal was opening, and a pre-set incantation they had learned at the MiskaToonic triggered.**

 **Shirley took a deep breath, brought to mind the earliest remembered incarnation she had ever had, and broadcast the view – of a very different world, three American billion years in the past. "Like fixing this!"**

The skies of Ancient Phaeton were red-brown, a natural colour to all its inhabitants making their living under the cloudy skies, It was a primal, fertile place of towering mountains, pristine rivers and lakes – but the 'waterfowl' swimming happily across the teeming lake did not breathe oxygen-rich air or drink water like her aeons-later incarnations. On Phaeton the mountains were deep-frozen water ice – the rain and sea were liquid hydrocarbons, raining from a methane and ammonia sky like the Saturnian moon Titan would do someday. When the clouds cleared, sometimes the locals would look up at the distant young sun and marvel at the sight of the close and colourfully banded gas giant Jupiter, still to gain its distinctive red spot. Further out were lesser lights – the green and red world of primal Mars where Marcia's ancestors were starting to crawl out of the cold, salty seas. Further sunwards, a remote blue speck someday to be known as Earth had only evolved lowly life forms such as bacteria, blue-green algae and politicians.

Shirley's early form was nothing remotely like a bird, but she both swam and flew, and her morphic resonance echoed that basic form throughout all her many lives. One of them had seen the first alien visitors arriving on the world – to be welcomed. Which was the last mistake that peaceful, harmonious civilisation ever made.

"Careless Bruins," Shirley's grim thought appeared like a sub-title to the memory. "The first time they visited our Solar System. They'd come from another, older Universe, after it had a 'little accident' and spacetime totally collapsed. Not their fault, they said."

 _And we believed them – then_. Her aura commented sourly. _No telling if that doomed dimension was even the one they started in._

Brandi and Candi looked on, stone-faced as the friendly, helpful-seeming tourists wandered around, taking souvenir photographs and sizing the place up. Then, in gratitude for their kind welcome, they offered to show the kindly natives some cultural traditions of their own home world. Shirley's incarnation had been there, watching with interest as a fuzzy bear set up a party-sized barbecue set by the shores of a petrol lake – and lit a match. The word 'Boom!' was an understatement, to put it mildly.

 _ **That shouldn't have been possible,**_ **her aura said flatly.** _ **Fer sure, the air's methane and the rain's petrol – but there's no oxygen, the planet shouldn't have blown up like it did!**_

 **"We see how they did it," Candi said, her feathers bristling. "They bring their own Universe reality with them."**

 **"It leaks," Brandi agreed. "Spreads."**

 **"And most of the pieces got totally swallowed by Jupiter in a few million years, just some minor bits left as asteroids," Shirley said, special-effect sweat beading on her forehead despite the cold (and despite avians not having sweat glands) as she thought desperately hard about her next line. "Most Earth astronomers don't even believe Phaeton was ever there." She paused, looking up.**

 _ **This planet is hurt, fer sure**_ **, her aura pleaded** _ **It can recover.**_ _ **But that one – is gone. Only you can fix it**_ **. She broadcast the exact spot in ancient time and space when History had turned and the first of the Sun's planets to evolve intelligent life had been the first to lose it. There was just one point where the decision tree had branched.**

 **Brandi and Candi looked at each other, recalculating their spell.**

 **"We can do it." Candi said, "But it take all our power."**

 **"Can only do this once," Brandi said, looking up at the crackling power lines. Liquid air was now falling like a cascade, a stream of dense super-cold air whipping the pine branches up and frost forming on their feathers.**

 **"I'll help! Take all the mana from me you have to!" Shirley said, desperately. She recalled the Spirit Tap spell she had performed last year on a willing swan girl, draining Ida's energies in a good cause.** _ **Now it's my turn - what goes around comes around**_ **, she thought fleetingly.**

 **Brandi and Candi looked at each other wordlessly.** _ **This may finish us. Burn us out. But it is right to do**_ **. The thought was shared dispassionately, and as the world power grid linked and its energies coalesced as one, they triggered the final spell.**

 **The mana flash lit up several dimensional planes – and somewhere far off, it was noticed. And not welcomed by all.**

 **Some time later, Shirley awoke, lying in the snow with the stink of scorched feathers around her. She moaned, checking her aura – who had taken the worst of it, and lay by her side as a faint, flickering shape. She summoned her last strength and rolled over to overlap with her astral twin, whose comatose form shape soaked into hers like water into a sponge, sharing energy.**

 **A strange thought surfaced from the random static crackling that filled her head** _ **. Those Addams Academy toons were right. Wierdsville. They said if I ever quit this job, something would have shown up that only I could have handled. And it just did.**_ **She paused.** _ **At least – things can't get any worse**_ **.**

 **Just then, the air crackled and a burst of infra-pink light washed over the clearing.**

 **"No. Not them." Shirley gasped. "Not now." She turned her head and saw what she had feared – one of the cute, cuddlesome and highly marketable creatures who she had just shown introducing ancient Phaeton to beach barbecue culture.**

 **The Careless Bruin shook its fuzzy, adorable fist, its normally cuddlesome features contorted in rage. "We saw what you did! Wasted all our hard work! We'll get you for that – yes, and your little aura too!"**

 **Shirley sobbed in exhaustion, helplessly drained. Looking around she saw Brandi and Candi in the snow, out cold in more ways than one. Her aura flickered dimly, punch-drunk from the psychic feedback of the massive spell. She realised she was defenceless, too weak to even stand as the cute but evil bruin approached, its chest-rune glowing as it powered up an attack. Even had she been fully powered up, she knew her most potent force bolt would have gone right through without doing any damage to a creature that could slip between astral franchises. Careless Bruins survived when the worlds they played with did not; their fuzzy forms were grandstanding from dimensions mere earthly forces could not touch. Their very particles were the alien Cuterons and Cuterinos.**

 **Just then, there was the mirage-like distortion Shirley recognised as a portable hole opening up. Three figures dropped down into the snow, armed with classic comedy slapsticks – the heavy, military grade models. One of them carried a military Kawaiionising Radiation detector that had guided them to their unearthly target.**

 **"Fore!" Angelina called out, taking a full golfing swing with the slapstick and connecting with the Careless Bruin's fluffy rump with a snap like a whip-crack. The small bear yelped, not just at the impact, but with the shock of realising it could unexpectedly take real damage on this plane.**

 _ **The weak comedic force! That and gravity are the only ones from this universe they interact with**_ **! Shirley's aura separated and stood open-beaked in shock, looking on.** _ **They can hit them.**_

 **"Five!" Calgari swept his slapstick as the cute but evil furball descended, sending it spinning into the air again.**

 **"Feliz Navidad! It's piñata time!" Tlalocopa enthused, her slapstick swatting it in a high arc before it vanished into an almost imperceptible rift in EinsToonian space. "Now we lock the door shut so he no come back that way."**

 **Angelina's black-glowing astral planar claws popped into existence on her left hand, and she pouted (a difficult thing to do with a beak.) "Too soon! You should have passed me the ball back. I wanted to see if these seam-rippers work on plush from his dimension."**

 **"Oh, I'm sure they'll be back. And I think they've got Shirley's number. Stick around her, we're in for a lively time." Calgari said. "See? She's useful for something besides a psychic piñata."**

 **Shirley watched, amazed as the Addams Academy trio conjured up a blue-white fireball of psychic energy channelled via Angelica's glowing claws, seam-welding the rift in the universe shut.**

 **Shirley looked at the dire trio open-beaked in shock. "You're … helping for once? But why?"**

 **Calgari smiled. "Perhaps it's our Christmas present to you."**

 **Shirley's aura blew an astral raspberry.** _ **Like, totally no way.**_

 **The raven shrugged. "Or possibly we've decided being nice and helpful, putting you in our debt will collapse your psyche into a conflicted, gibbering wreck, with – who knows? That exquisite pop as a Toon's sanity shatters forever. Which would make a great phone ring-tone." He paused, considering. "Did I say that out loud?" He shrugged, philosophically. "Oh well."**

 **"Besides," Angelina said. "Do you really think we'd let anyone else mess with you, our very own exclusive designated psychic punch-bag and Comic Relief character? No way."**

 **They looked up at the clear skies; Calgari pulled an electronic telescope from his Hammerspace pocket and scanned eagerly. Close to Jupiter there was an unfamiliar dot, which with magnification showed as a red-brown planetary disc. He smiled, passing the device to Angelina. "Of course, this is going to make a lot of people very shocked and unhappy."**

 **"Si! Is always an up-side," Tlalocopa agreed. "NASA spent billions last year on probes to see asteroids, and now no asteroids. Were never there. Despite everyone remembers them."**

 **"Yes. I imagine Doctor Wyrdbeard's Clinic for the Clinically and Comically Insane will get plenty of custom, once the news gets out," Angelina said. "All those astronomers and cosmologists suddenly spot the Solar System just radically changed, for no possible scientific reason." She paused, her head tilted to one side as if listening intently. "We should head out to the NASA Vandenberg launch centre, and their main offices. Soon we'll hear that exquisite popping sound of shattering sanity, and the sound of millions of cherished textbooks being torn up."**

 **"That's my kind of Christmas present," Calgari smiled. The two corvids rubbed beaks affectionately.**

 _ **Like, mondo eww**_ **, Shirley's aura complained, looking at the pair aghast.** _ **Makes me feel way nauseous. In fact**_ **... The astral shape turned a sickly greenish colour.** _ **Gangway!**_ **She staggered off to the edge of the clearing, and loud retching sounds echoed around the astral plane.**

 **Tlalocopa had been observing with interest, and a minute later the chupocabra strolled back with a smile on her face. "Live and learn, si! Now I know astral spirits throw up ectoplasm. Never get to see that, watching Disney channel!"**

 **"Wierdsville." Shirley frowned. "She never gets sick. Low in energy, fer sure, but never – sick. Neither did I – apart from morning sickness, when my eggs were on the way. And that's just natural." She paused, looking pointedly at her astral twin.**

 **Her aura looked even greener than before as she picked up Shirley's thoughts.** _ **You think… no! Totally no way!**_ **Her eyes were wide in shock and horror.** _ **It can't be!**_

 **"Wonder what she's been getting up to on the sixth astral plane, all the time dear Shirley here's been fast asleep, dreaming the sweet dreams of the just?" Angelina put in knowingly, the magpie's long tail feathers twitching. She bent down to offer Shirley a feather-hand up out of the snow.**

 **"Mondo thanks," Shirley said, too drained to argue. She accepted the magpie's feather-hand, and as she did so felt a strange frisson, as if her body was responding at some deep level to the touch. Belatedly, she recalled this was the hand that wore the (now-retracted) claws. She got to her feet, shuddering at the reaction, and went to check on the unconscious Brandi and Candi.**

 **Calgari was looking at the starry skies. "You know, with a sorcerous energy flare that size, the astral plane's going to be ringing like a bell. All sorts of things that would normally be quite impossible are going to borrow that potential energy and… buck the odds."**

* * *

 **Down at the boathouse on the frozen Lake Acme, the lakeside had been built up with banked snow and two hundred seats borrowed from Acme Looniversity's sports arena, that hosted baseball (and its new upgrade, extremely base-ball) matches in warmer weather. The scent of chlorine bleach from the bleachers was noticeable.**

 **"Some crowd!" Babs said, waving to her mother and siblings. "Looks like anybody who's anybody's here." She paused, casting a sly glance at Variola. "And some Perfectos, too."**

 **Variola gave a contemptuous sniff, but said nothing.**

 **Clara squeezed the rat's paw affectionately, and looked fiercely across at Babs. Her two-tone tail twitched dangerously, her feet stamped and there came a mephitic waft as her scent glands armed. "You need a better class of worm if you're going fishing, rabbit – this girl's not rising for the bait."**

 **"Expensive worms. Sums up the Perfectoids perfectly, I always thought," Babs said innocently, mentally preparing a fast spin-change into an NBCC-suited form should Clara's tail point her way. "Still, it's good to see everyone else here." She waved at Calamity and Marcia sitting over in the next row; the Martian girl was wearing only a thin cloak above her skimpy bathing costume, enjoying the night-time temperatures which were dipping towards midsummer conditions on her home world. To her, an Earthly snowdrift was as comforting to relax on as sun-soaked sand dunes to most Earth Toons.**

" **Mostly everyone. Pity Fowlmouth and the band are out of town touring over Christmas," Buster said. "It'd be good to meet up. Not all our class finished up in films, but at least they're in Show Business." From somewhere ill-defined came a burst of the classic song '** _ **There's no business like show business!'**_

 **"That's right!" Babs said brightly. "Fowlmouth on vocals and supersonic combustion Flugelhorn, Furball on strings, Mitzi Avery on keyboards and Dizzy on concussion instruments."**

 **Clara blinked. "Don't you mean percussion? Concussion is a sort of brain injury."**

 **The bunnies exchanged meaningful glances. "I take it, Clara hasn't heard their music," Buster deadpanned. "And visually they're pretty stunning too. Some guys need mil-spec optical filters when Mitzi Avery dances, or they're knocked out cold for the rest of the gig." Liking extreme musical styles was not just a student thing, he reflected – one of their own former tutors was known to his class these days as Professor "Speedcore" Gonzales.**

 **"I've seen a video of them play," Rhubella said. "It's impressive. Not too suited to cramped indoor gigs though - the flugelhorn exhaust needs a proper water-cooled flame trench, and Furball's electric violin takes as much current as most aluminium smelters!"**

 **Down on the lake, the improvised curtains swished open and the lights around the seating went down.**

 **"Hush. The show's starting." Babs settled down, accepting the popcorn bowl her husband pulled out from his Hammerspace pocket. She put away her annoying-noise-cancelling smart headphones (handy settings included 'aircraft engines', 'elevator muzac' and 'Professor Elmer Fudd') and watched intently (or even in-boathouse-ly). On the back wall was projected an eerily glowing title:**

 _ **FRANKENSTEIN'S MONSTER MOLLUSC – A TWO-ACT DRAMA. ON ICE!**_

 **Over on the ice-floored stage, a warmly clad Mortimer skated out onto a backdrop of wild, dramatic mountain scenery. "It was a dark but definitely not stormy night!" He announced. "And it was just this time of year, when Chad and Janice's trip to the annual Straight Arrow convention… took a turn that neither of them expected. A night that they would both remember – for a very, very long time. And, struggling through the snow… I think I can hear them now." Mortimer stepped out of the way to the corner of the stage, as from the other side Marie-Sioux and Gene Ericson came staggering in, as if ploughing through knee-high snowdrifts. It was a tricky manoeuvre on ice-skates.**

 **Janice (Marie-Sioux):" You know, dear, that was really strange. Your car breaking down just like that. Not what you expect from a brand new Beamer, freshly serviced. Who'd have thought it?"**

 **Chad: (Gene Ericson.): "Yes… and I filled it up with plenty of unleaded gas at that last service station."**

 **Janice: "Petrol? Didn't you tell me it was a diesel?"**

 **Chad: "Petrol is cheaper, dear. And we're saving for our engagement ring, remember."**

 **Janice: "Oh! Of course." (Pauses, looking around.) "You know… I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."**

 **Chad: (Looking shocked) "You shouldn't say things like that! What if a studio lawyer's listening?"**

 **Janice: "It's all right, I checked. We can quote that old film phrase, it's out of copyright now. Anyway… I really do think we're not in Kansas."**

 **Chad: "Why?"**

 **Janice: "Well, the rugged mountain chain with all the European style castles was a bit of a giveaway." (Pauses) "There's still no signal on your phone?"**

 **Chad: "None. But hey! I forgot, the GPS I got yesterday! It was going to be your Christmas Present… but we need it now. This should tell us exactly where we are." (Rummages in his pockets and pulls out a cheap-looking gadget, resembling an old calculator.) "All I have to do is press the button and… oh!" (His eyes go wide in surprise).**

 **Janice: "What does it say, dear?"**

 **Chad: "It just lights up and says 'YOU ARE HERE.'" (Pauses) "I did wonder what standard of GPS they were selling in that dime-store." (Shrugs.) "Still, better than nothing."**

 **Janice: "Well, so we're here. In a snowdrift, and it's getting dark. There's no way we'll get to the convention centre at Statistically Average Rock, Kansas tonight. What about trying over there? That nearest castle on the mountaintop… there's lights on. Maybe we can use their phone."**

 **Chad: "Or at least, they can tell us what part of the perfectly normal Kansas backwoods this is. Come on, let's go!"**

 **(Exit, Stage Right).**

 **Mortimer skated out onto centre-stage as the hapless pair struggled out of sight. "And so it was that they approached the castle. And their arrival had not gone unnoticed within…"**

 **(He steps back and the backdrop changes, to that of a classical laboratory, with abundant high-voltage machines whose main function seemed to be throwing electric arcs and plasma discharges around the place. Two white-coated scientists are revealed, watching Chad and Janice approach on a giant display screen linked to a huge array of mysterious sensors. The whole setup with its tangle of cables appears to be running off an elderly Atari games console.)**

 **Doctor Wittling (Granville Laverne): "So! More candidates arriving, no doubt. What vacancies do we still have, Doctor Gruber?"**

 **Doctor Gruber (Gibson Goat): "Well, Doctor Wittling. Quite a few, if the Master is to complete his great project. We're short of all grades of scientists, from lowly wonks and boffins, right up to senior tech wranglers and gurus."**

 **Doctor Wittling: "Well, as long as they're Forbidden Science certified – we can find a position for them."**

 **Doctor Gruber: "Really? We're going to offer them a job just like that? What if they're no good?"**

 **Doctor Wittling: "Then their position, will probably be… briefly dangling by their fingertips, over the pit where we throw people to the… to the… (Blinks, looking round absent-mindedly for a few seconds) oh, you know, those hungry things we have people thrown to."**

 **(Both laugh wildly.)**

 **Doctor Gruber: "Not** _ **too**_ **hungry, I hope. Don't want it to be too quick."**

 **Doctor Wittling: "Oh, no. That would never do. Bolting your food is so bad for the digestion."**

 **The backdrop changed, to become the main doorway of a classic castle, complete with drawbridge and portcullis poised above the doorway. It creaks ominously. Chad and Janice are seen, walking up to it.**

 **Chad: "Here we are, honey. There were lights on, so I reckon somebody's home."**

 **Janice: "I don't know, dear – I have a bad feeling about this."**

 **Chad: "Hey! What could be more natural than finding an intact medieval castle in the craggy mountains of… unknown Kansas?"**

 **Janice. "Well, since you put it that way…"**

 **Chad walks up boldly to the door. Just as he is about to knock, it creaks open. Standing in the doorway is a tall, austere figure in a slightly decayed butler's uniform.**

 **Slightly decayed Butler: (Cassandra Bloode, in a deep, grave voice) "Yes?"**

 **Chad: (Extending friendly hand in greeting, which is ignored.) "Hello there! Our car broke down, and we wondered if we could take the opportunity..."**

 **Butler: "That password is correct, Sir. Come right this way. The Master is expecting you."**

 **Chad: (To Janice) "Password? Did I accidentally hit on a password to something?"**

 **Janice: "Funny how that sort of thing keeps happening, isn't it?"**

 **(They enter the castle. The door slams ominously behind them.)**

 **Mortimer skated back onto centre stage, and waved at the closed door. "And so, by a coincidence hard to believe, they gained entrance to the castle. Where many strange and terrible things awaited them…"**

 **(Scene change back to the laboratory; the Butler shows Chad and Janice in, then departs.)**

 **Doctor Wittling: "Welcome, soon-to-be-colleagues! It's a cold night out there."**

 **Chad: (Strides forward determinedly, and shakes his hand.) "Yes, Sir. But what we really wanted first, was just to use your telephone."**

 **Doctor Wittling: "Ah! If you'd asked for anything else… we have radio telescopes here that can spot a radio sitting on a Martian bedside table… we have detectors that can investigate the Plot Hole at the centre of distant galaxies but…"**

 **Janice: "No telephone?"**

 **Doctor Gruber: "The Master is really worried about people leaking stories to the Press."**

 **Doctor Wittling: "And he forgot to play the phone bill." (Shrugs) "Even a super-scientist can't think of everything."**

 **Chad: "Aren't you in charge?"**

 **Doctor Wittling: "Us? We're just humble researchers, brought in like you, for the final stage of the Great Project ™. The man in charge – He's the last word in Unrestrained science."**

 **Doctor Gruber: "Well, with enough of a budget he'd be the last word. At least he's the last letter. They call him Doctor Z. Pronounced ZED, not Zee."**

 **Chad: "Zed? He's English?"**

 **Janice: (Looks around nervously) "Must be evil, dear. A hundred Hollywood films can't be wrong."**

 **Doctor Gruber: "The Great Project ™ needs only the best qualified boffins, and that's the only place boffins are trained."**

 **Doctor Wittling: "Ah! A great scientist indeed, but never appreciated. A familiar story in our trade. Rejected by the mainstream, he was left to his own devices." (Pause) "And some of the Devices in this castle are really something! He's got a transformer that can change all that old, foggy energy into the new, clear sort."**

 **Doctor Gruber: "A great boon to Toon-kind."**

 **Doctor Wittling: "It's a good thing you found us, and you didn't call at the next castle on the ridge. The Count lives there, and he's not so friendly."**

 **Chad: (To Janice) "Remember, honey? Seeing that industrial-looking hazard sign we passed on the road? Like the 'Danger of Death' signs around power cables, but saying 'Danger of Undeath'?"**

 **Janice: "Count Dracula? He's living – or something - around here?"**

 **Doctor Gruber: "Not Count Dracula – Count Cohen. He's had no choice but to drink blood every night to survive, since he was made a vampire in the 18** **th** **century." (Pauses) "Been forced to break kosher non-stop for three hundred years, and oy, is he in a mean mood!"**

 **(Enter Professor X, stage Left. She wears a white laboratory coat over incongruous sea-boots. What looks like a cutlass is sheathed at her waist.)**

 **Professor X: (Lucretia Darke) "Hail, fellow savants! More cannon-fodder for the crew, I mean valued new recruits?"**

 **Doctor Wittling: "Just arrived! There's snow fresh on their boots."**

 **Doctor Gruber: "And they're still wet behind the ears, it appears."**

 **Professor X: "What's your speciality?"**

 **Chad: "I'm a junior deputy intern, third class. Sure, the hours are long, the work terrible and there's no pay, but on the other hand… looking on the bright side…"**

 **Professor X: "Yes?"**

 **Chad: "Sorry, I can't think of anything."**

 **Professor X: "And what about you, little lady?"**

 **Janice: "Oh… I'm only starting my training for that job. In a few years, maybe I'll be a part-time junior assistant intern. If I qualify."**

 **Doctor Gruber: "Ah! Non-specialists! We have a couple of posts for people like that."**

 **Professor X: "Nice spruce ones, against a wall in a courtyard out the back. "**

 **Doctor Wittling: (Nervously): "Ha, ha. Just her little joke. She doesn't do that… any more. She's been working on Unrestrained Science projects since… way back. Or even further."**

 **Professor X: "Ah, I remember when it all began. It was back in the 1940's, and I was working for…" (She looks round, nervously). "A… certain European regime."**

 **Janice. "Oh well. Better than an Uncertain one."**

 **Chad: "Well said Janice!"**

 **Janice: "Just who did you work for?"**

 **Professor X: (looking uncomfortable) "A regime who are currently a bit out of fashion."**

 **Chad: "What goes around, comes around."**

 **Professor X: "Quite. But they did Monstrous Physics and Forbidden Science like you wouldn't believe! Oh, that scalar physics!" (Pauses) "But saying any more would be… troublesome."**

 **Janice: "As in 'real can of worms' troublesome?"**

 **Professor X: "As in 'a whole worm can cannery' of trouble."**

 **Chad: "You were working in the 1940's? You don't look old enough."**

 **Professor X: "Believe me, when you're playing with a space-time that isn't remotely EinsToonian… and my, um, former employers Definitely didn't approve of EinsToon, anything can happen. (Looks wistful.) "Oh, that scalar physics! Non-linear math to die for – and many did."**

 **Chad: "You fell into a time warp?"**

 **Professor X: "Several times. I'd do that same Time Warp again, and again… but I ended up here and now."**

 **Janice: "Things are always now."**

 **Chad: "Why did you work for, um, them, in the first place?"**

 **Professor X: "I'm an innocent victim of fashion. Can I help it if I look good in black?"**

 **Doctor Gruber: "We're all specialists here, in our various fields. I was recruited for my medical skills. It's a hard life, being a surgeon. Persecuted, and no respect."**

 **Chad: "Really? Why's that?"**

 **Doctor Gruber: "Well… imagine, if you're an amateur conjurer, you can be the real life and soul of the party practicing on your family, friends and neighbours."**

 **Chad: "Sure. A great way to hone your skills."**

 **Doctor Gruber: "And that's just what I did. But nobody appreciates it… when you're an amateur brain surgeon."**

 **Doctor Wittling: "He's the best darn brain surgeon in these here parts." (Pauses.) "Drunk OR sober!"**

 **Professor X: "Live patients are so… unappreciative."**

 **Doctor Wittling. "Ain't it the truth." (Sighs.) "I worked for a chemical company, we made bleach. The trouble was, cubs would drink the stuff – it tasted terrible, and was really poisonous. Until I hit upon the perfect answer."**

 **Chad: "Cub-proof caps on the bottles?"**

 **Doctor Wittling: (Scornfully) "That's hardly innovative. Think outside the box, young man! No, I produced a cherry-flavoured bleach! Solved half the problem at a stroke. But did they appreciate it?"**

 **Doctor Gruber: "I could have been famous. I had a patient with symptoms unknown to science. I was going to have the disease named after me; it'd be Gruber's Syndrome in all the textbooks! But before the medical panel came to assess the patient… he got better."**

 **Doctor Wittling: "Ingrates, the lot of them."**

 **Janice: "You really are mad scientists, aren't you?"**

 **Doctor Wittling: "Well? So are you, or you wouldn't be here."**

 **Doctor Gruber: "Think of us all as 'don't-get-mad, get even' scientists. And if you can't get even, get odd."**

 **Professor X: "And I did – all those years ago. It was like this:" (She clears his throat and sings, her voice ringing out clearly across the boathouse)**

 **"Well, there I was, constructing this hole**

 **A wormhole in space, so good and really ace it was**

 **When up drives a fellow in a panzer,**

 **He pops the hatch and scratches his head**

 **He looks down the 'ole, poor demented soul, and he says:**

 **"Don't warp there, suspended in the air**

 **It's all hypercubic and it ought to be square**

 **The entropy's wrong, it's warped too strong**

 **And you can't link a wormhole anywhere wrong."**

 **I said, "I just couldn't bear to warp it elsewhere**

 **It's Reich approved physics so it's all fair and square**

 **And if you disagree, it doesn't bother me**

 **'Cos that's just the way of an 'ole's geometry."**

 **So there I was, craftin' this 'ole, worm 'ole in space, nothin' out of place it was**

 **And there was 'im, standin' up there all brutally efficient with 'is 'and in the air**

 **It's not there now, 'cos Space-time's flat**

 **And outside it is that nosy bureaucrat!"**

 **Doctor Gruber: "So perish all enemies of Science! And it's a project she's been working on it ever since."**

 **Janice: "I expect it's much easier these days, with modern equipment and computers and everything."**

 **Professor X: "I wish! My original designs used materials you can't get now. The insulators alone are a real headache." (Pauses.) "You just can't get proper ersatz rubber these days. And there's no real substitute."**

 **(Enter butler, stage left, with a strange shuffling gait.)**

 **Butler: "The Master will see you now. Please walk this way."**

 **Doctor Gruber: "I don't think my leg joints will let me walk** _ **that**_ **way…."**

 **Professor X: (Sighs.) "One of these days I swear we're going to have you thrown to the... to the…" (Pauses, absent-mindedly.) "Well anyway, have you…** _ **Thrown**_ **."**

 **The curtain fell on the first act, and the lights went up on the audience.**

 **"Not bad. Not bad indeed!" Babs whispered to her husband as the curtain fell on the first half.**

 **"So farce, so good," Buster agreed. "And that first act is a hard act to follow."**

 **"Naturally. And it is natural; we can't show any unnatural acts on stage and keep our PG-rating," Babs smiled. She rummaged in her Hammerspace pocket and pulled out a pawfull of snacks which she offered around; mostly Fig Newtons with some Date Keplers and a Chocolate Copernicus.**

 **Two pairs of keen and highly directional rabbit ears swivelled as they picked up angry tones from the best seats in the boathouse, where the Looniversity staff and the Studio team were sitting.**

 **"There's half a ton of red wolf with a face like thunder and a voice like acid rain," Buster relayed for his less super-sensed friends. "Ow! He did not like Mortimer's play. Says if it doesn't get better next act, all rabbits round here are going to go back to the end of the… something." his ears twitched, trying to make it out.**

 **"Back to the far end of the unemployed queue?" Variola asked.**

 **Babs grimaced, having heard. "Back to the end of the food chain. The low end."**

 **"Not that he doesn't like rabbits. He likes them – in the worst possible way." Buster said. "Fried, stewed, fricasseed…"**

 **"Even President Hitcher's not so prejudiced," Rhubella shivered. "Not like that guy on the East Coast, only targeted fish folk. The Boston Angler, they called him."**

 **"Difference is, this Mister Hackensaw ended up in charge of Cartoon development," Buster said, his ears drooping. "There was a time when the holy Saints Clampett, Jones and Avery ruled the creative side in the studio – but modern times have 'moved on'. Or that's what they call it."**

 **Babs spin-changed to a Jimmy Durante clone. "What a revoltin' development," she growled.**

 **Fifi shook her head, looking at the assembled Sons of Schlesinger. "Eet is just as DEVO said all those years ago," she murmured. "De-Evolution, eet ees zo real."**

 **"DEVO. They really were right about everything. All happening now," Rhubella confirmed. "Those guys are going to give Acme Loo some savage cutbacks, if they get their way. A really brutal hare-cut, even." She spotted Fifi's old Professor Bunny, and waved. The grey hare had other things on his mind at the moment.**

 **"What do you think of the show so far?" Rhubella asked her sister. "Not the kind of thing we used to put on." Perfecto had been known to commission troupes of mimes – not for their own premises, but sent into the streets to shock and horrify the good Toons of Acme Acres while the Perfectoids sat back at a safe distance smirking.**

 **Variola sniffed. "It's somewhat like you'd expect from a classic Porter stage production."**

 **Babs' ears twitched in surprise. "Praise, from you? You really think it's as good as the famous Cole Porter?"**

 **Variola smiled superciliously. "Not THE Cole Porter. More like something penned by A coal porter, actually."**

 **Babs blew her an unladylike raspberry.**

* * *

 **Behind the scenes, Mortimer felt like a Weenie-Burger chef left alone with a restaurant full of hungry customers and the phones for take-away ringing non-stop. Being a Director, he thought fleetingly, was to be pulled in every direction** _ **. Just as well I'm not a pig, I'd be pulled pork by now**_ **, he thought fleetingly.**

 **"Right! That went about as well as can be expected," he declared, handing out the last-minute script revisions to his cast. "Curtain rises for Act Two in ten minutes. Get ready for your cues. Got it, Bubba?" He winced inwardly, staying well clear of the brutal bull.**

 **"I have it." Bubba was sat in a designer chair he had brought with him; the only one in the room that would actually fit him. The bull's voice was surprisingly high-pitched and squeaky; a reason he usually preferred to make actions speak louder than words. Right now he was wearing a small pair of round-framed reading glasses as he scanned the script; on a table next to him was the Christmas edition of 'Thug Life'. Its front cover declared it held abstruse and scholarly articles such as '** _ **The size 12 boot and its bodily application for pleasure and profit**_ **' by A. J. Raffles Esq, modern descendant of the genteel thug of a century before.**

 **Marie-Sioux frowned, tapping the script. "Why change things this late on? It's a bit of a surprise. We haven't even rehearsed this bit."**

 **Mortimer gave a harassed grin. "I'm the Director! This way is more – Direct."** _ **And it's like when the military find their plans got leaked to the enemy – they change them. Fast.**_ **He thought, eyes narrowing slightly. Marie-Sioux had given away the original ending; the new one was something the Sons of Schlesinger would not be expecting.**

 **"Yeah. He has to think on his feet. That's why there's a rabbit and not a human doing his job – bigger, better feet. Lucky rabbit's feet, too," Lucretia grinned up at Marie-Sioux. "Nobody ever said a human had cute toes."**

 **While the theatre-goers mingled in the interval, a mile away in central Acme Acres Margot Mallard was holding court in a hired corporate suite to which some very distinguished toons were invited. She was alone for the moment, and took the opportunity to check her reflection carefully in the antique ormolu mirror on the wall. She had selected a severe business skirt-suit, of utterly simple design but exquisite midnight blue fabric that did not brashly scream 'money' – it whispered it in very seductive tones. As she moved, she appreciated what the outfit artfully concealed – her lingerie was very black silk, reinforced with structural Kevlar, graphene fibre and titanium wiring to hold her figure in perfect poise.**

 **As she moved, she jiggled experimentally, pleased at the effect of her new bra, specially ordered from a specialist boutique in Switzerland. "Eine bustenhalter," she murmured, appreciating her silhouette. "And once it gets moving, this bust takes quite some halting…"**

 **Just then the clock chimed six. Margot looked outside at the snow-covered landscape outside, and nodded.** _ **Time for business**_ **, she thought, and pressed a button on the desk. The door opened to admit her guests. "Good evening, gentlemen."**

 **Three toons walked in, keeping a wary distance apart. One was a dove in a Government-issue executive grey suit, who looked around cautiously. One was a tall hawk in mirror shades, whose black suit bulged in some places that did not necessarily reflect his anatomy. The third was a familiar purple skunk, who she had last seen a few hours earlier heading out with Fifi and Rhubella to, presumably, explore International Relations with them.**

 **Margot smiled, looking from one face to the next. She had left Plucky at home, getting to grips with his new TeX-box games console * and discovering its undocumented limitations. She looked at the three Toons. "Please be seated. I know who you are, gentlemen." She addressed the dove in the** **grey business suit. "Chief of the WashingToon Bean-Counting Department. You want our ultimately offshore Phobos bank so nobody else gets to use it. Closing a financial Black Hole in financial space." She turned to the hawk, in the black suit and mirror shades. "A representative of Certain Undisclosed Military Departments, you want somewhere to stash your ultra-black budget where nobody can ever find it, particularly WashingToon bean-counters." Lastly she looked the distinguished skunk male over, and nodded. "Not many folk in this town can tell a LiechtensToon accent from a Swiss one – but I am a Perfecto graduate, you know."**

 **(Editor's note: a reaction to all the NumbMindo consoles and such being manufactured in the Far East, the TeX-Boxes were assembled in the Wild West. They suffered from a few flaws, such as being heavily overweight and incompatible with anything but Cowboy-themed games…)**

 **The skunk clicked his heels smartly (a difficult feat barefoot) and bowed from the hip. "Indeed. I noticed that when we met, even had your dossier not mentioned it. Your reputation precedes you, Madam."**

 **Margot grinned, looking at the three Toons. "Well, gentlemen, I hope you've all brought your cheque books. You all want this for your own department. Don't you? And happily, there's one way we can settle this really quickly. And you can end the threat to Earth's economy from your rivals, if you want it bad enough." She savoured the moment, looking from one expectant face to the other, and spoke the dread words that had them gasping in horror; "Dutch Auction!"**

 **"No!" The dove from the Treasury stepped back a pace.**

 **Klaus von Schellenberg merely nodded, the European apparently less surprised than the two American avians by a Dutch technique.**

 **"Oh, yes." Margot's eyes narrowed. "Starting price, all the gold in Fort Knox, or equivalent value. No coupons or I.O.U's accepted." She looked around at three suddenly sweating figures. "No takers? Counting down, then. Next bid, all the gold minus one bar."**

 **"That's a lot to ask for one bank," the hawk in the mirror shades objected. "How do we know it's worth it?"**

 **Klaus smiled at him knowingly, having previously taken an electron microscope to the small print. "It is not only for the one bank. You might buy the First Phobos National Bank cheaper, yes – and tomorrow she launches its Second National Bank in competition, and we are at square one again. This is, as you say, playing for all the marbles. For all the offshore Phobos commercial rights."**

 **"It's all in the fine print," Margot nodded graciously to him. "Counting down, first bidder gets all, no second chances." She looked around in triumph as the three Toons grabbed phones and started panicked calls for authorisations from headquarters. "And no need to rush, gents – believe me, I've got all night."**

 **Twenty minutes later, two depressed and one elated (but corporately much poorer) financier Toons had left, two to tell their WashingToon masters about their abject failure and one to take advantage of the holiday airport closure to celebrate with friendly locals. A certain rat and skunk were expecting him that evening.**

 **As she returned home and hugged her mallard mate, Margot smiled inwardly imagining the hawk and the dove's reception when they got back to their WashingToon offices with the bad news** _ **. If this was in Japan, they'd probably be ordered to throw themselves on their swords – or more likely letter-openers, in atonement for such failure. Of course, top managers these days learn to delegate all that kind of thing to their junior staff…**_

 **Margot glanced at the hall table and the last post deliveries that had arrived before Christmas; she recognised the discreet catalogue of intimate rubber goods and PVC evils that she would look through later. She smiled to Plucky. "Well. That was a successful business meeting. But business is over for the holidays. I've had four adult places laid for Christmas dinner tomorrow, plus high chairs for the fledglings. Gladys and Gracie asked if we could make it five adult places."**

 **"Five?" Plucky blinked.**

 **"They were really taken by that sweet girl Skylar" Margot said. She snickered. "Several times, as I recall. And visa-versa." It had been quite an experience all round, she reflected – getting to know the petite maid, who with not only a different body but brain chemistry as well, had a different character from Plucky in many ways. There were many delightful aspects of that still to explore.**

 **Plucky blushed. "They want to meet her again?"**

 **"Mmm." Margot relaxed. "I've told them she won't be available Christmas day. You can't have everything. At least, not all at once."**

 **Plucky looked around nervously. "And… do you want her back?"**

 **Margot looked at her husband levelly. She took his feather-hands in hers. "Dear Plucky. I married you for who you are. Having… occasional Skylar potential is just the icing on the Christmas cake." She paused. "I don't want Christmas cake every day. But when I do, it'll be… memorable. Something to look forward to." Her eyes gleamed. "Hopefully a bit more than once a year, that should keep things lively." She did not mention Gladys and Gracie's whispered ambition to put a matching stork feather necklace on the new maid's green feathered form.**

 **Plucky nodded. "It's going to be a big year. Three new hatchlings in the house!" He gulped, recalling pure-bred avians sometimes had a whole clutch of eggs. In the wild, Gladys and Gracie's ancestors might have filled their nests with half a dozen eggs apiece. "Or… more."**

 **Margot nuzzled his bill with her own. "More mouths to feed. It's a lot of work for me, but – I'll do my very best." She gave a mock sigh. "Looks like I'm just going to have to eat more chocolate and cheesecake. And I never gain any weight. It's a hard life."**

 **Plucky gave an embarrassed wriggle, and his eye caught sight of a magazine awaiting him on the hall table. "Whoo-hoo! This made it here for Christmas. Special holiday season edition!" He opened it and the built-in sound chip began to play a merry jingle; Weird Al Yankowitz' festive track '** _ **Christmas at ground zero**_ **.'**

 **Margot noted the cover of her husband's latest distraction, and smiled inwardly. The Christmas Special issue of '** _ **Re-entry vehicles in heat'**_ **was something she had already skimmed through – there had been a handy pull-out brochure of technical terms, described as** _ **'Now! Get to use cool-sounding high-tech terms like 'enthalpy', 'Delta V' and 'Reynolds Number' as if you knew what you were talking about!'**_

" **Look! In the letters column, they've printed my T-mail I sent them, which second-generation bird has the coolest design features," Plucky said proudly. "Everyone knows it's the Atlas D. Oh, those gimballing engine nozzles…"**

" **Radical hobbies are the big thing these days, it seems." Margot had seen the magazine's sister publication,** _ **'Extreme Ironing.'**_ **which had elevated a household chore into the realms of daredevil crease-slaying. Not content with dragging their ironing boards and steam irons up cliff faces and radio masts, according to the cover one participant was surfing down from orbit on a customised ironing board, steering the board and heating the iron by sticking out the iron like a rudder into the hypersonic airflow.**

" **Mmm. The Chinese are putting solid oak-wood heat shields on their re-entry vehicles. Classic or what?" Plucky turned the pages, entranced. "And oh, that hot Atlas D... there's a full-colour close-up of the gimballing engine nozzles! Look! You can see right up the thrust gimbal mountings!"**

 **"If they have a Christmas issue, they should do Spring greeting cards on the same lines. Makes a change from gambolling lambs, gimballing engines," Margot said lightly. "Thinking of high tech, I've got an early present for you. Here's the plot summary of your next blockbuster hit," She passed her husband the T-pad. "Just arrived from the studio – if you want the star role, it's all yours." The original script had been written as a tender romantic comedy, but revisions had added new characters, zombie bashing, helicopter chases and four-wheel drive vehicles doing parkour between rooftops of burning skyscrapers. A far better 'vehicle' for her husband's talents.**

 **Plucky skimmed through the script, and a manic grin spread across his bill. "This is great! Way better than that Bollywood all-dancing thing Buster and Babs are down for next year – some lame costume drama, '** _ **Who's sari now?**_ **'"**

 **Margot smiled. She had enquired about getting that one for Plucky, but decided any tale of the life of Hare Krishna was best left to the jackrabbits who were technically hares themselves.**

" **Oh boy." Plucky's eyes went wide, as he read on. "My super-hero character gets his trademarked amazing powers when he has experimental laser eye surgery."**

 **"He gets miracle 20:20 vision?" Margot asked innocently. As to innocence, she had an excellent memory.**

 **"Better! He gets experimental laser eyes! That's my kind of script! And he leads Fowlmouth and his band in a rock 'n roll rumble, up against a real villain, the Audiophobe!" Plucky enthused as he flicked through the pages. "And I get to play alongside Dizzy Devil – when they lay down Extratone tracks at a thousand BPM, he's the only drummer in the business who can play it by hand."**

 **"Sounds like you're in luck with the scripts again." Margot hugged her husband fondly, mentally reviewing what it had taken to get him that. Not that he would ever know. "Now you can practice your heroic, super-penetrating gaze."**

 **"And look at that!" Plucky's eyes lit up as he skimmed through the script. "Final scene, the Big Boss fight, I take on the Audiophobe. The band come in behind me to take out the henchmen but – it's just the Big Boss and me with my set of afterburning Assault Bagpipes." He blinked, imagining the scene as he mentally rehearsed his steely expression in an extreme close-up, switching the skirling pipes from 'stun' to 'kill'. "This is going to be SUCH a blockbuster… the nearest intact block will be on some other crummy continent nobody cares about anyway. It's like it was written just for me!" A page of the storyboard had been included; it showed a dashing avian hero descending from the skies in righteous jetpack-borne wrath balancing on the white-hot exhausts of the bagpipe drones while aiming the chanter like a bazooka.**

 **"Well, how about that. Some people are born lucky," Margot said, as she looked her drake up and down fondly. True, in the argot she and Rhubella used to converse together in their Perfecto second-year, her husband was '** _ **Ot-nay oot-nay ight-**_ **bray' – but she had what she had never expected, a mate she could actually trust. Perfectos who married each other generally only stayed that way till a better deal came along – and hedged each other in with pre-nuptial agreements dripping with envenomed penalty clauses. Being married to, say, Danforth Drake would have been a very different story; she would have spent much time and effort on contingency plans against the day he potentially turned on her and had the luck and inspiration to make it stick. She realised she had the mate she always wanted without any of that, just the way she wanted him. And he was happy with that.**

 **"It's a great Christmas present. The greatest!" Plucky paused. "Except for you, of course. You're the best. Hey, and all my Acme Loo pals used to be really down on you Perfectos, can you believe that?"**

 **"Do tell," Margot smirked.**

 **"They used to go on about you exploiting the poor and the weak. But I know you don't do that anymore," Plucky continued, his gaze locked on his adored wife. "Ain't it so?"**

 **"It certainly is," Margot affirmed. "What with my exclusive Corona project, the first entirely new vice in a century and priced as high as any market can bear. I've quite moved over to exploiting the extremely rich instead."** _ **After a lot of cost/benefit analysis they don't teach you at Acme Loo,**_ **she reflected.** _ **Lifting a million dollars out of a pocket is a lot harder than lifting just one… but it's still easier than lifting one dollar apiece from a million pockets… and the best scam of all is when the mark thanks you for doing them the service!**_

* * *

 **Back at the lakeside theatre, Babs and her friends resumed their seats, adjusting mittens and ear-cosies. It was getting colder.**

 **Buster nodded over to where Marcia and Calamity were sitting. Marcia had peeled off down to her bathing costume, and was happily piling snow around herself as cushioning on the rather hard wooden seats. "There's one girl who won't catch cold."**

 **"Quite the opposite," Babs agreed. "She always used to go down with Earth-type bugs – and I don't mean our Principal – in summer. Not the usual ones, what with her Martian biology."**

 **"We get flu shots, she gets potato blight shots," Buster said. "Remember in the third year? She went down with tobacco mosaic virus." He paused. "Really unfair that, she doesn't even smoke!"**

 **"And we have a strict no-smoking policy in class," Babs cast an eye at Rhubella. "Unlike some."**

 **"Marcia doesn't smoke, but she steams a bit sometimes…" Buster noted. "Acme Acres in Summer isn't just sub-tropical to her. It's super-tropical."**

 **"Hmm." Babs looked thoughtful. "It's interesting how it's all turned out, isn't it? Who'd have guessed it, when we were sitting in class a couple of years ago? And – a few changes in the script back then… who knows where the plot would have ended up?" ***

 **"Who knows, indeed?" Buster mused, catching a glimpse of parallel timelines, a legacy from his and Babs' stay in the sixth dimension. "Though it was probably very, very silly."**

 **(** And at that instant on a crossover franchise far, far away, the Babs Bunny of Earth 103 ¾ hesitantly approached the centuried marble tomb on which lay the holy relic she sought. She bowed reverently to the statue of the tomb's occupant – a plain featured, monkish-looking human who had been the saviour of the world against an evil tide of tiny silly-hatted daemons who had horrifyingly reappeared in the twenty-first century. The statue stood in a protective stance with a spell-book in one hand and the other resting on the haft of his sacred weapon.

"The world won't see his like again," the Buster Bunny of Earth 103 ¾ said in hushed tones, holding up the flaring torch to read the inscription on the stone. "Multi-classed Warrior/Sorcerer/Cleric, 18 on 3D6 in all dice rolls, with (+6) bonuses all over the place. And he needed to pass every single Saving Throw, against a foe so monstrous and silly-hatted."

"Once the world was saved from blue squeaky Evil, folk decided triple multi-classed characters like that were WAY over the top. There's still an international treaty against it." The Warrior/Comedienne Babs nodded, skirting the smaller tomb of the hero's little cat, and bowed her head as she stood before the white marble slab shrouded with the dust of centuries. She took a deep breath, and grasped what lay untarnished on top of it, protected by its absolutely stupid levels of To Hit and Damage bonuses – SmurfSlayer, the legendary Sledgehammer of Splattering….)

 **Just then the lights went down again, and the audience hushed.**

 **(Scene: Another laboratory. This one contains a giant vat, with crackling electrodes discharging into it. We see Doctor Zed standing by the edge, rubbing his hands gleefully as he peers into its murky depths. Enter Chad, Janice, Professors X, Gruber and Wittling. Led by the butler, who then departs.)**

 **Doctor Zed: (Henry Smith): Welcome, welcome! You arrive just in time! My Project is successful, under budget and well ahead of schedule!" (Aside) "You can tell THIS isn't a Government contract, can't you?"**

 **Doctor Gruber: "So soon?"**

 **Doctor Zed: "Yes! The final stage is almost complete!"**

 **Professor X: "Ohh… then we won't need these two extra bodies." (She gives an evil chuckle.) "I have a few Fascinating Experiments I've been awaiting… test subjects for."**

 **Doctor Zed: "But first! Witness the awakening of my creation!"**

 **Janice: "That Jacuzzi looks like it could use a good cleaning."**

 **Doctor Wittling: "Jacuzzi? Well… we did buy it as one, good deal on T-bay. But now it's the home birthing tank for the Great Project ™!"**

 **Doctor Zed: "For years I toyed with the problems of reanimating dead chromoplasm."**

 **Professor X: "Well... who doesn't? That's hardly Forbidden Science these days. It's scarcely '** _ **I really rather you didn't'**_ **Science."**

 **Doctor Zed: "But the tiny details of the organism were so hard to work with. And then I had my breakthrough! I would solve the intricacies of my creation by building it bigger! But then there was the problem of obtaining enough raw material."**

 **Chad: "I thought mad scientists dug up graveyards?"**

 **Professor X: "A splendid old tradition. You can't do too much recycling, you know."**

 **Doctor Zed: "But with Toons, there's a problem there. We live forever, unless we're hit with Dip or just fade away, forgotten by the audiences till no living mind remembers us. Either way – nothing left to dig up. Those graveyards in the films are just scenery – and of course they create important ecological habitats for Goths to lurk in."**

 **(A burst of the classic track "** _ **I ain't got no-body**_ **" plays from off-stage)**

 **Doctor Wittling: "A mad, I mean an Unrestrained Scientist's life is no bed of roses."**

 **Janice: "Personally, I never thought making a bed in a rosebush ever sounded very comfortable."**

 **Doctor Zed: "A thorny problem, either way. But one day I was dining at my favourite sushi restaurant… and looked out of the window into the alleyway behind. I noticed the cook heaving a bag of seafood offcuts into the bin – and then I realised! With sushi…"**

 **Doctor Wittling: "Sashimi, technically..."**

 **Doctor Zed: (Looks at him, annoyed.) "Ah. With sashimi, all the material is raw. And the amounts they were throwing away – inside a month I had, ah, recycled a ton of it to my laboratory freezer. And then. Ah, and then!" (Rubs hands gleefully.)**

 **Chad: "A really big paella?"**

 **Doctor Zed: "No! Revived and living chromoplasm material just ripe for the project. I drew on the techniques from Doctor Gene Splicer's Ignoble-prize-winning research, and soon it was a vat of formless, seething Toon matter just waiting to take form. And then, and then…"**

 **Janice: "And then what?"**

 **Doctor Zed: (Embarrassed) "You know how writers get Writer's Block sometimes? I got Unrestrained Scientist's Block. What to do with it? So many possibilities."**

 **Professor X: "Then he bumped into me by pure chance, at the CrudeEssen. We'd been to the MiskaToonic U together. Hadn't seen each other for years!"**

 **Chad: "CrudeEssen?"**

 **Professor X: "My research funds had run out. I couldn't afford to eat at a delicatessen." (Pauses.) "I even had to sell my beloved toolkit, down to the last tool. And that was a real wrench, I can tell you." (SFX: Comedy drum roll.) "Happily, the good Doctor gave me a job here. Before that I'd worked part-time as a High Priest of the F.S.M. – which I still do; it proved inspiring to us all."**

 **Doctor Zed: "We all joined his church immediately. It's THE religion for a true scientist!"**

 **Janice: "If I ask who or what the F.S.M. is, will I get a half hour discourse and a handful of pamphlets?"**

 **Chad: "Very probably."**

 **(Professor X reaches down to a locker and dresses in ceremonial vestments. These comprise a Pirate-style eighteenth century coat, a black eyepatch and on her head, a domestic colander.) "All hail!"**

 **(The other scientists pull out pewter tankards of grog and raise them in salute as they chant.)**

 **"All hail, sleet and cold snow!**

 **OUR religion has a beer volcano!"**

 **Doctor Zed: "When I joined, the teachings of the FSM made sense of so many mysteries Science has long tried to understand. Like, the laws of Gravity make no sense if most of the expected mass of the Universe is missing."**

 **Janice: "Have you looked under the sofa cushions? My missing keys and pocket change always end up there."**

 **Doctor Zed: "I'd already accounted for most of it – you may not know it, but heavy virtual particles surround us in Hammerspace, just waiting to be given reality. And I even found a way to reveal them. Behold!"**

 **(He strikes a dramatic pose.)**

 **(Special effects: using a back-lit projector, on the wall behind them is shown a blizzard of shadowy anvil-shapes that seem to be passing through everything and everyone without interacting.)**

 **Professor Zed: "And they called me mad. The fools! I showed them most of the true missing mass of the Universe – Weakly Interacting Massive Particles. And the other scientists, what did they call them? WIMPs, they said. Not good enough, eh? And so I swore l'd show those fools! I'd destroy them! I'd destroy them all! And then we'll see who's mad!" (Laughs wildly.)**

 **Doctor Gruber (In aside, to Chad: "He's brilliant, you know."**

 **Chad: "You said most of the mass? What about the rest?"**

 **Doctor Zed: "Ah!" (He accepts a proffered colander from Professor X and reverently puts it on his head). "When I looked past the virtual anvils I saw, on a higher dimensional plane still, a being. And he communed with me, and revealed the truth."**

 **Chad: "And?"**

 **Doctor Zed: "Imagine. Acting on a higher plane for unknowably high motivations, there is one who benevolently holds us onto the planet. Pressing us safely down all the time, although most Science never knew it. One who is caressing us forever with his noodly appendages, unseen and un-felt. It explains why there isn't enough mass in the universe – gravity's not the only thing holding us down.""**

 **Janice: "Noodly? Sounds more like one of those Anime demons."**

 **Professor X: "They just have a bad press, undeservedly. Like Pirates, who, oddly enough, were the first to discover the truth of the F.S.M, a fact long suppressed. And now it can be told – the truth about the Creator of the Universe, Flying Spaghetti Monster!"**

 **(Long pause.)**

 **Chad: (To Janice, sotto voice) "He really is mad, you know."**

 **Janice: (Alarmed) "Dear… I think you really should look behind you."**

 **(Special effects: where the falling anvils were projected on the background, there is now a sinuously writhing silhouette. As if a bowlful of living spaghetti wrapping two giant meatballs had come to life and popped out a pair of googly eye-stalks to view the world.)**

 **(Chad and Janice jump back in surprise.)**

 **Professor X: "A-harr! Avast, me buckoes!"**

 **Doctor Zed: "And inspiration struck, like a Pirate's broadside. What shape to give my creation? In a homage to the Sphagedeity him, her or itself, I'd… get the closest I could." (Points to the writhing shape) "That's merely the 3-D shadow it casts on our EinsToonian spacetime – its full form in N-space is beyond most mortals' understanding."**

 **Professor X: "Except for a few particularly short people."**

 **Janice: "Really? Why short people?"**

 **Professor X: "Short people are the most blessed in his sight, and now we can prove it. Our stature is the natural result of being pushed down more than other folks by the caring, noodly appendages."**

 **Chad: "And what's with all the Pirate gear?"**

 **Professor X: "Pirates were attracted by the religion's moral codes. Luckily, they were the ones they'd been following anyway. It's always nice to find folk agreeing with you."**

 **Doctor Gruber: "Unless of course it's when you're running round in panic shrieking '** _ **Help! Help! We're all doomed!'**_ **"**

 **Doctor Wittling: "Quite."**

 **Janice: "I'm surprised Scientists would go for it at all. Don't you generally prefer evolution? More logical?"**

 **Professor X: (Looks embarrassed.) "Well – logically, it's a safer bet to believe in some Deity. If it turns out you were wrong and they don't exist, you've lost nothing much. If they DO exist and you didn't pay your dues – when you find out it'll be too late."**

 **Doctor Zed: "And why the Sphagedeity? It explains so many things Evolution and other religions don't. Like the duck-billed platypus."**

 **Chad: "No, I never did like it. I always thought those things were a silly idea."**

 **Doctor Zed: "Exactly! Would a being of Infinite Wisdom choose to create a thing like that by design? Not likely. Would Evolution refine millions of hard years of survival of the fittest and end up with that as the answer, beating all possible competition?"**

 **Chad: "Hmm. I'm beginning to see the point."**

 **Doctor Zed: "Ah! It's perfectly logical. If it could not have been Evolved, then the only sort of Deity that would create such a lash-up was… a not very bright one. Perhaps also a little too fond of 'quality testing' the holy bounty of the Beer Volcano it had created earlier – well, that all points in one direction. This is the only religion that allows for Unintelligent Design."**

 **Chad: "It does explain a lot…"**

 **Professor X: "And it takes an Unappreciated Scientist with nothing to lose, to see the bold picture. Unappreciated we are! As a Pastafarian with hidden Pirate knowledge, once I was invited to work as technical advisor on a fan re-make of the classic "Treasure Island". Of course I updated the Pirate ships with guided missile launchers! Real Pirates would, given the chance. But the Director threw a hissy fit – and threw out all my nice upgrades."**

 **Chad: "Too high-tech?"**

 **Professor X: "No. He said it was just plain non-cannon."**

 **Janice: "No wonder you were fired."**

 **Doctor Zed: "And now – it is time! Rogi, throw the switch! The BIG switch!"**

 **(Enter Rogi, a reverse Igor in stained off-white laboratory coat, walking backwards towards the vat. She grabs hold of a six-foot lever like in an old train signalling box, marked 'Do not touch under ANY Circumstances' and throws it.)**

 **Rogi (Nootka Umniaaq): "Yes, Master."**

 **(SFX: The lights dim, save for a few LEDs winking on the instrument panel next to the vat. Then something huge can be seen rising out of the vat on a platform like a car hoist, indistinct in the shadows. Suddenly patterns of bio-luminescence start to lights up with flashes of blue-green light across its surface. The lights slowly brighten; we see it is a mollusc of enormous size. One tentacle starts to twitch, then a pair of eyes rise up on willowy stalks. Their resemblance to the FSM is striking.)**

 **Doctor Zed: (Rubs hands together gleefully.) "It's alive! It's ALIVE! Ha ha ha!" (Aside to the audience) "Never mind those dusty old Nobel prizes, kids – this is what being a scientist is Really all about."**

 **Rogi: "Shall I connect the speech interface, Master?"**

 **Doctor Zed: "Yes! Let us speak with our new creation. And hear the words it brings to the world of the living, from… Beyond."**

 **(Rogi attaches a pair of taped electrodes to the monster's shell, and plugs in a flat-screen. We see words forming on the screen.)**

 **Monster (Shelley) I. DESIRE….**

 **Professor Zed: "Now we shall learn – just what such a thing thinks of as important – in its first minutes of life."**

 **Monster: RICE. AND SOY SAUCE. AND WASABE…**

 **Doctor Zed: "Now, that IS odd."**

 **Doctor Gruber: "It's remembering things from the last moments of its previous life. Lives, I mean. At a Sushi restaurant."**

 **Doctor Zed: "I'm surprised it's a vegetarian, eats vegetables." (Pauses, looking pensive.) "Still, it should be cheap to feed. Not like it was a Humanitarian."**

 **(The chains holding the monster release, and still on its levitation platform it rises slowly out of the tank and settles down on the laboratory floor in the midst of the excited knot of scientists, who gather round measuring and probing with cameras, stethoscopes and patented 'Machines that go Beep'.)**

 **(Janice and Chad walk off to one side.)**

 **Janice: "Oh, Chad… it's so horrible. We have to stop it somehow."**

 **Chad: "Well, it beats the usual 'stitching up the bodies', routine, you have to admit. And – I suppose it IS all good recycling. 'Zero waste to landfill', you know."**

 **(Tableau: Curtains close.)**

 **Mortimer skated onto centre stage, and struck a dramatic pose. "And so, having no working phone to order a rice and vegetable takeout, the Master sent his trusted Rogi down the mountain on the castle's Nearly_All_terrain_Vehicle, down through the snows to the quaint peasant village in the valley. While Rogi headed over to the Chinese Restaurant, a sinister figure who had stowed away in the back of the vehicle slipped out and left silently on quite another errand…"**

 **(Scene change: a standard medieval style tavern, with low-beamed ceiling, ancient wide hearths on which an ox is roasting over a log fire, rustic wooden furniture and quaintly costumed peasants drinking ale out of earthenware lidded steins and pewter mugs. Just a standard quaint peasant tavern in Kansas, apparently drawn without reference material.** _ **[Mortimer: Note to myself, leave that last line out**_ **])**

 **Janice: "Oh, thank heavens! I've escaped from that terrible castle on the hill. I have to warn you – warn the world, what they're doing up there!"**

 **Quaint Peasant #1: (Cassandra Bloode, having changed costume in record time.** _ **[I hope. Mortimer**_ **].) "Arr? Ye means the Castle in the mountains hereabouts where that millionaire pop star and his entourage do…" (Hushed voice) "Things… terrible things, they do say. The parties they have… no mortal Toon should be a party to that."**

 **Janice: "No, not that one."**

 **Quaint Peasant #2: (Nootka Umniaaq, ditto) "Ye means the castle where the undead Count Cohen drains the blood of stout travellers – and excess unsightly fat too?" (Aside):" It's a liposuction like they'll never forget!"**

 **Q.P. #1: "Funny thing is, there seems no lack of stout tourists arriving at his door – coach parties, even. They all come back fifty pounds slimmer – and I've never heard any of them complain."**

 **Q.P. #2: "Arr! Funny, that."**

 **Janice: "No! I mean the castle where they're building a monster – a hideous slimy thing with lethal sting and a body that could swallow a Toon whole!"**

 **Q.P. #3: (Bubba Leboef) "Oh, we heard. Good customers, those scientists. They keep our village ACME wholesaler in business. Not many places this size can support a 24-hour express delivery warehouse like that."**

 **Janice: (In desperation) "But… you don't understand… their leader – he's En… no, it's too horrible. I can only say… he's Not From Round Here!"**

 **(Pause. Locals look at her in shock.)**

 **Q.P. #3: (Taking handy pitchfork down from the wall, clearly an everyday item in modern agro-business) "So I say we take our pitchforks and torches and … burn them!"**

 **(Q.P. #1 waves a small LED torch valiantly. Realises it looks very silly, hides it behind her back with an embarrassed grin, and grabs one of the flaming wooden ones from the wall instead.)**

 **Janice: (Picking up a scythe and brandishing it. [** _ **Mortimer: memo to myself; they say those things are hard to get used to swinging. Hope she doesn't cut anyone's tail off!])**_ **"That's right! Follow me, everybody!"**

 **(All exit, yelling.)**

 **(Scene change: meanwhile, back at the castle… we see Chad being led down dusty stone corridors by the butler.)**

 **Butler: (Cassandra Bloode, having spin-changed at record speed) "The Master's guests will be celebrating tonight, Sir. He instructed me to show me to your chambers."**

 **Chad: "That's peachy. I just wish I knew where Janice had gone to."**

 **Butler: "No doubt the young lady will reappear in time, sir." (Aside) "In this place, she could end up at any time in history!"**

 **(The Butler opens the door, and ushers Chad into the room, before locking him in and departing. The room is a classic Castle one with gloomy drapes and a huge four-poster bed.)**

 **Chad: "Well. I've been to worse Motels. I'd give it a one-star." (Checks the pillow of the four-poster bed, picks up a little wrapped chocolate mint and holds it up, a satisfied expression on his face. "Maybe even a two-star. I wonder if they have cable TV?"**

 **(SFX: strange liquid slurping noise. [** _ **Mortimer: try pouring a helping of the Looniversity Cafeteria's 'daily special' from one jar to another. You know, the sort that lands on your plate with a 'splut' sound**_ **])**

 **Chad: "Sounds like… it's coming from over there. I'll take a look." (Explores one wall of the room; pulls back drapes to reveal a bolted inner door, evidently to an adjoining room. The bolt is on his side.) "Hmm. I could maybe ignore it and get a good night's sleep; no doubt we'll be able to get back on the road tomorrow. Or – I could open the door. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?"**

 **(Stands poised in thought for a second. And opens the door. On the far side we see the Monster, taking an industrial-sized shower, a scrubbing brush held in her stinging tentacle.)**

 **Monster: (Does classic – 'surprised in the shower' Take, flinches back in panic and eyestalks extend in alarm.** _ **[Mortimer: Never mind the fact she doesn't wear anything to start with, this is a classic and I'm going to use it!])**_ **Monster writes on steamed-up shower stall): EEP!**

 **Chad: "Umm – sorry, Sir – or is it Ms? I didn't know you were there."**

 **Monster: (Coyly dipping eye stalks, before writing in the condensation): IT'S MISS. (Pauses) YOU MEAN YOU REALLY CAN'T TELL?**

 **Chad: "We didn't do Marine Biology in my school."**

 **Monster: (Extending eye-stalks towards him, looking him up and down): PITY. I HAVE VERY… MARINE BIOLOGY. (Pauses) WHY DON'T YOU COME ON IN AND… I'LL SHOW YOU?**

 **(Fade-out. Backing curtain falls.)**

 **Mortimer skated out onto centre stage, and addressed the audience. "And while Chad endured the monster's embrace, later on that night high in the castle, things were happening...)**

 **(Scene change: the laboratory we saw first, with the big display screen.)**

 **Doctor Wittling: "Oooh, look, there's a torchlight procession heading up the valley towards us. Maybe it's some quaint folk festival, you know, symbolic fires to bring back the returning sun after the Solstice, all that sort of thing?"**

 **Doctor Gruber: "Or maybe there's an angry mob of villagers with torches and pitchforks coming to wipe us out?"**

 **Doctor Wittling: "Could be. It's an occupational hazard, in this profession." (Aside) "You wouldn't believe our Insurance premiums!"**

 **Doctor Gruber: "Better call the Chief scientist, Doctor Zed."**

 **Both: (Shouting) "The Chief Scientist Doctor Zed!"**

 **(Doctor Zed appears, apparently teleporting in. [** _ **Mortimer: check our SFX budget for this!]**_ **)**

 **Doctor Zed: (Looking at screen) "Ah. It's angry mob season. Happens a lot, round here. Better get our guests up to watch the show."**

 **Rogi (walking across stage) "Yes, Master." (Aside) "Some token ethnic actors get cool lines like 'opening hailing frequencies, Captain' but oh, no, not me…"**

 **(Enter Chad and the Monster together. The Monster has her stinging tentacle resting companionably on Chad's shoulder.)**

 **Doctor Zed: "I trust your evening is proving... enlightening."**

 **Chad: (Embarrassed) "Uhh... we were just... sharing that Chinese takeout. Yes, that's all we were doing. Honest!"**

 **Doctor Zed: "Right. I'll believe you, thousands wouldn't. And now – another educational experience, perhaps." (Takes centre stage, faces audience.) "You know… it's hard to believe that highly qualified scientists just keep getting caught by surprise like this – as if we're so focussed on our projects we don't even think about the world outside us."**

 **Doctor Wittling: "Well, you DID forget to pay that phone bill…"**

 **All: "Shhh!"**

 **Doctor Zed: "And there's a good reason a lot of our most – daring – work gets done in hilltop castles. Hello, is anyone picking up a theme here? Isolated site on high ground, with major natural and Toon-made defensive systems? They were tough enough targets when they built them, back in medieval times!"**

 **Chad: "In Kansas?"**

 **All: "Shhh!"**

 **Doctor Zed: "I could have set up shop down in the village, handy for the bus stop, the Mad Science Thrift store and the ACME parts wholesale warehouse. Just because we may be geniuses, no reason why we should be stupid about it."**

 **Doctor Gruber: "But there's a Raging mob out there! They have… pointy wooden things! And all that's between us and them is a three-yard thickness of tall granite walls… the six-inch thick face-hardened steel on all the doors … and all those high-tech surprises you've been building in for the last few years." (Pauses, looks contemplative.) "Now I think about it… yes, I see what you mean."**

 **(SFX: distant explosion.)**

 **Doctor Zed: "Ohh… looks like they're exploring my little outdoor experimental art installation. A fully interactive, multimedia Art experience, it's the latest thing. A high-energy extravaganza of light and sound, all interactively stimulated via by each individual viewer's stimulus!"**

 **(SFX: many distant explosions).**

 **Professor X: "I call it having an unlabelled minefield in the castle garden."**

 **Doctor Zed: "Ha, ha. I call it a brave, futuristic piece of high-energy Avant-gardening. Self-destroying art pieces, that's very Dada you know, some very surrealist irony in there." (Pauses) "And as it's mine own field, I should know."**

 **Chad: "Isn't that cheating?"**

 **Doctor Wittling: "We can lend you a pitchfork if you like, if you want to go down and take the mob on at their own game? You're only outnumbered 50 to one, after all." (Pauses.) "47 to one, now."**

 **Chad: "Hmm. I think I'll pass on that."**

 **Doctor Gruber: (looking out of window, pointing) "Look – the survivors took refuge. In that burning windmill." (Aside). "Is that a classic, or what?"**

 **Chad: (Puzzled.) "I see an old windmill over on the next hill. But it's not burning."**

 **Doctor Zed: (Holds up big remote control with a prominent red button on it.) "Want to bet?" (Presses button.) "Main engine start! We have lift-off!"**

 **(SFX/Animation: windmill imitates a supersized firework rocket, vanishing skywards. There is a classic starburst firework explosion.)**

 **Professor X: "And to think, boring suburbanites have to make do with lawn deer and garden gnomes in their gardens."**

 **Monster: (Holds up coyote-style scribbled sign-boards, one word at a time): THEY. BELONG. DEAD.**

 **Doctor Zed: (Bowing) "And that's all, dear scientist folks!"**

 **(Curtain closes.)**

 **The improvised theatre suddenly rang with cheers and applause from the Acme Looniversity side of the audience, plus their friends and relations. The other part of the crowd sat in stony silence.**

 **"That's the last straw! They had the heroine lose, and the villain win!" Hiram K. Hackensaw stood up, outraged. "The English guy was supposed to take the fall!"**

 **"Sir – the play seemed to at least – hang together?" The peccary girl who was working as unpaid intern to the studio offered hesitantly. Unlike other employees, while she could be fired she at least had no worries about getting her pay docked for asking unapproved questions. "Why did he have to be the villain?"**

 **The red wolf snorted. "They just are. Everyone knows that. Ask any of the movers and shakers who really run Hollywood."**

 _ **(And in a well-appointed office in Burbank, three toons looked at a blacklist of comedy writers in front of them.**_

 _ **Mr. Weinstein: "That English guy looked good till the interview – when I told him 'show me the Funny!' He came up with a joke with a punchline about having to 'check a Czech cheque'."**_

 _ **Ms. Meier: "We can't use that. Doesn't the guy own a dictionary?"**_

 _ **Mr. Weinstein: "He had his own right with him, showed me the spelling. It works better than our version, so help me! I could have either argued with him, or just made sure he never works in this town again."**_

 _ **Mr. Goldman: "He'll never work in this town again!")**_

 **"It's as bad as the last job I had to deal with so-called 'creatives'", Hiram K. Hackensaw snorted. "I had to pull the finances on half the small-press comics in the business. Why, the first time I went to one of their conventions I found the whole business was full of Reds and subversives!"**

 _ **(And in a nearby hotel complex on the exact anniversary of that occasion, two hotel employees were taking down the posters of the previous weekend's convention bookings…**_

 _ **Drudge 1: "Don't you find it confusing, this weekend every year we host ComicCon and CommieCon in adjoining suites?"**_

 _ **Drudge 2: "Gee, I never thought of that…)**_

 **"It's just as bad, we've got a Studio supported school promoting some weird spaghetti cult. This is California, not Italy!" Another of the Sons grumbled. "We do westerns, not art-house cult films."**

 **From somewhere ill-defined an eerie burst of recognisable Spaghetti Western music echoed through the building.**

 **"Sir! Don't the Studio rules say we definitely can't mock folks' religions?" The aide asked worriedly.**

 **"We got an exemption right here. For weird cults and stupid, made-up ones, we can. Nobody ever got sued for laughing at a Jedi." Hiram K. Hackinsaw tapped the ever-present folder of Studio Regulations he carried – the twin of that which Professor Bugs had lent to Mortimer to help write his script. "Pastafarians? A bunch of morons with stupid colanders on their heads."**

 **One of the other Sons of Schlesinger nodded approval. "Easy to see why Acme Looniversity is beyond saving. Why, nearly half of the entire student body are sub-average!"**

 **Professor Bugs shook his head in disbelief, and stepped well clear of them. "Eeeh… a word to the wise, youse guys. If I was you, I wouldn't diss da Pastafarian." He pulled out a rare breed purple carrot and munched it ironically. After so many years of practice, he could do practically anything ironically. He could be ironic with a table and chair.**

 **Hiram K. Hackensaw snorted. "Well, it's just as well you're not me. Because this is the last straw, and the last cheap laugh that's coming out of this Looniversity. You're all fired! And you, rabbit, are going off the payroll right now and back to the backwoods you came from. Just in time for rabbit hunting season."**

 **"Bad luck with that, bunny" one of the other Sons of Schlesinger said nastily, turning to his comrades. He winked. "Looks like Hasenpfeffer's back on the menu, boys!"**

 **Professor Bugs noticed a less expensively dressed peccary girl standing to one side of the group, and noted her expression of distaste. "Best stand somewhere well away, Miss. I gotta bad feelin' about dis…"**

 **The intern nodded and hurried away, ostensibly to find a rest-room. She had been on her feet all day and a few minutes resting on a soft couch strongly appealed. Besides, she had seen live webcam footage of Dis, an Infernal City on the Sixth Circle of Hades, and had a bad feeling about it on sight. The (now cancelled) all-Dante Channel used to have a daily Divine Comedy hour.**

 **Bugs went down on his knees in a dramatic pleading pose. "Chee, youse guys… you can do what you want with dis old grey hare, but don't take it out on those good kids!" A mischievous gleam in his eye went unnoticed by the Sons of Schlesinger.**

 **Hiram K. Hackensaw waved dismissively. "They can see if Weenie-Burger's hiring. As soon as we get back to the Studio, Acme Looniversity is history."**

 **"And shortly after… it's geography. A valuable parking-lot," another snickered. "After all these years, we've got the last 'bugs' out of the Studio system."**

 **The rabbit in question sniffed a stage tear back. Nobody noticed the mischievous smile as he prepared a souped-up version of his ancestor Brer Rabbit's '** _ **do anything to me, but please don't throw me in that terrible bramble patch!'**_ **gag. "You kin do all of that… but please, please don't say them terrible things about them good Pastafarian guys!"**

 **Hiram K. Hackensaw grinned. "Oh? I can't, can't I? Well, just you listen here." He cleared his throat and looked up at the starry skies above. "You hearin' me out there? If there's any such thing as a Flying Spaghetti Monster… let's see you. Come on, manifest to your worshipper over there, right now! And I forever renounce…"**

 **"WE renounce, corporately," one of the other Sons of Schlesinger added. The rest nodded in heartfelt assent.**

 **Hiram K. Hackensaw smiled, nodding in satisfaction. "We renounce, we reject, we defy it and all its works." He called out loudly to the Universe. "Whatever it may have done for us before – it can stop doing, now and forever. Right now, you hear me?"**

 **All around, the Toonier characters' fur bristled with an imminent static charge as of rapidly building energies. Closing the Looniversity would invoke the basic law of the Conservation of Comedy; comic energy could not be created or destroyed, and releasing decades' worth of accumulated humour from a shut Looniversity meant it had to go somewhere.**

 **Professor Bugs had turned tail and was by this time a hundred yards away, sprinting at top rabbit speed as if a Hunter's Convention had arrived in town with members more competent than Elmer Fudd (not difficult). "Don't look, kids," he warned. "Dis could be kinda messy."**

 **The Acme Looniversity students and graduates dutifully put their paws over their eyes, then peeked between their fingers in the best film narrative tradition. Just in time.**

 **Something arrived – or rather, something was now visible that had always been there unseen, as if the film had switched to infra-red footage that let it suddenly show up. There was a gasp and a shriek of unutterable terror from the assembled Sons of Schlesinger – "No! No! Anything but that….** _ **the noodly appendages!"**_ **Their terrified cries suddenly receded into the far distance, followed by a sonic boom as of a dozen less than streamlined shapes hitting Mach One, Direction Stage Up.**

 **"Now, there's a sight you don't see every day", Babs marvelled, waving farewell. "Unless maybe you're at the MiskaToonic."**

 **"A bit of a Deus Ex Machina," Buster commented. "I wonder how they arranged that."**

 **Professor Bugs Bunny strolled over, greeting his ex-students. The grey hare glanced up at the outward-bound executives. "Eeh, did somebody ask for an exposition?" He grinned mischievously. "As Principal, I read what's in everybody's file, see? An' I remembers it, too. Henry Smith, he don't just play a Pastafarian on the set – he really IS one. Ordained priest, too. I got his okay to spill the beans 'bout dat, then made sure to tell your brudda all about it, an' Mortimer put it to good use. He gets a Grade A."**

 **Babs' eyes lit up. "So the whole play was one big setup? To summon a deity who's got a sense of humour?"**

 **"Not many of those around," Buster said, impressed. "Good choice." Mortimer had done a fine job, he reflected – imagining his brother-in-law being ceremoniously welcomed back to Comedy Scriptwriting classes the first day of next term by the entire grateful staff lined up with a formal twenty-one pun salute.**

 **"Hmmm." Babs looked thoughtful for a brief and rare beat. "Good casting, too. Mortimer tells me Henry's shtick is 'instant karma' – so when the Sons of Schlesinger got all gratuitous about his Deity…"**

 **"And lo, they shall be cast unto the outer darkness, eternally denied the caring complex carbohydrate caress…" Buster spin-changed into a vicar's vestments, adding a Pirate hat to complete the outfit. He gave a Papal-style benediction gesture, which he turned into a twisting motion as if wielding a sacred pasta fork. "Forever and ever. RAmen."**

 **His mentor waved skywards. "I been askin' '** _ **What's up, Doc?**_ **' for a lifetime. Kinda nice to find out, after all dis time. Dey are."**

* * *

 **A mile and a half away, a waterfowl pair walked out into the open air. Christmas Eve was here, the starlight glittering in the frosty air, and the trees glittered with fresh snow. A distant thundering sound made them turn their ear-holes in the direction of Lake Acme.**

 **Margot looked genuinely surprised, a rare thing for her. She pointed towards the sky above the lake, visible through the trees. "That's the first time I've ever seen meteors going upwards."**

" **Say what? Hey, you're right!" Plucky looked up at a cluster of brilliant white streaks sprinting starwards. "How about that? Looks like someone fired a bunch of Sprint missiles, maybe one of those cool Historical re-enactment groups. Look at 'em go! Pulling a hundred gravities acceleration, right off the pad! Shining white-hot with air friction!"**

 **"Rising like shining stars over the land…" Margot nodded appreciatively, the phrase somehow seeming to fit.**

 **"Looks like they're heading for space," Plucky said appreciatively. "Single stage to orbital departure. How cool is that?"**

 _ **Cool?**_ **Q** _ **uite a few thousand degrees, I'd have thought**_ **, Margot thought lightly but said nothing.**

* * *

 **Back at the Loon family household, the unconscious Brandi and Candi were put to bed warmly by their grandmother, who shooed Shirley away with the advice that she had done her part of the prophecy. Margot and Plucky had been phoned and given updates, and once assured the twins were in good feather-hands seemed fairly unworried by the situation. Then, their first fledglings had taken down charging Kodiak bears in the wild using telekinetic 'slice and dice', and neither wanted or needed much in the way of nurturing any more.**

 **The Addams Academy Toons had, of course, seen all this. "And she still won't tell you what the prophecy was?" Angelina asked, apparently sympathetic. "Figures. Then, I kinda get the feeling you don't want to know a lot about what your dear mother gets up to. She's got all those cool sub-basements under the house, and those neat-o books held down for safety with cold-forged chains of meteoric iron."**

 **"Si! And that just the Romantic Fiction shelves!" Tlalocopa said eagerly.**

 **"She's like, always been into experimental Magic," Shirley admitted. "You wouldn't think someone who was a hippy would go into Necromancy and Demonology that way."**

 **"Hey! We're all hippies here!" Angelina objected. She gave an inverted peace-sign. "War and hate, man."**

 **"An entity remains itself, even in a mirror," Tlalocopa said. "Two sides of a coin – but same coin. Light sabre, Dark sabre… all cut just same." She unsheathed her Dark Sabre, activated its blade and made a few kata practice moves with the blade of focussed, coherent darkness (extracted by special pumps from the forbidden mines beneath Addams Academy).**

 _ **Mother is nothing like you,**_ **Shirley's aura snapped.** _ **Nothing.**_

 **"Oh, I don't know." Calgari mused. "If you look hard enough, there's some blatant dark-side magick-using clues in the music of the hippy era."**

 _ **Like what?**_ **Shirley's aura asked sourly.**

 **The raven unslung his air guitar and strummed a few lines from a track the Beatles had covered:**

 **'** _ **It rolls like a train that's comin' on down the track**_

 _ **Roll over Beethoven and we'll get Tchaikovsky back!"**_ *****

 **"That's right!" Angelina nodded. "Tchaikovsky died in 1893. The Beatles were singing sixty years later. If they weren't going to use some pretty industrial-grade Necromancy, just how do you think they were going to '** _ **get him back'**_ **?"**

 **"Like, ewww!" Shirley's lower bill hit the floor in an extreme 'Take'.**

 _ **Hate to admit… I can't argue with that one,**_ **her aura transmitted, glumly.**

 **Angelina raised a virtual glass in mock salute. "May your Horror always be… Exquisite," she toasted. "Season's greetings, Shirley."**

 **"And it's all true. I swear it by Saint Crowley and Saint LeVay." Calgari looked at the downcast loons. "No need to be so sad. Remember we're here for you. We're on your side." He paused. "Well, I mean we'd like to get you on our side, but it's all the same thing in the end, isn't it?"**

 **Shirley cast him a dirty look. "You want me on your side? Fer sure. You and your grody Master."**

 **Calgari nodded earnestly. "Oh, you wouldn't believe how much he wants you. He's waited a very long time."** _ **And he just loves the flavour of a spoiled saint; a self-righteous Torquemada is far tastier than a simple murderer or jay-walker,**_ **he thought gleefully, aware now what Shirley had done to her daughters for what she had thought was good and righteous reason.** _ **The road to his mansions are paved with Good Intentions like those.**_

 **"It good to be wanted, no?" Tlalocopa said slyly. "Even as our 'Dream-team Scream Queen.'"**

" **Unlike you, we already know exactly what a Dark Side Shirley the loon looks like; she helped us out for six months, before heading home to her sexy vampire boyfriend she missed so much. You know, the one you killed SO thoroughly. Oopsie!" Angelina said, a sly smile on her face. "She enjoyed her life here. And ask our honest Colonel who was better at her job – her or you. Go on, I dare you."**

 **"And si, she plenty hot on the nest!" Tlalocopa nodded.**

 **"All those reincarnations, Shirley – you're like the ultimate draft-dodger, you must have quite an outstanding bill. And I don't mean the one on your face you eat your free-range tofu with." Angelina nodded. "He really wants you, so very bad – and he's got the original patent on Bad. Wants you in every possible way, including sideways!"**

 **"Heh." Calgari elbowed the magpie sharply in the ribs, a broad grin of hard-to-biologically explain teeth showing on his sharp beak. "She's only kidding. You know I'm a devout and God-fearing Toon." He paused. "For very good reasons."**

 **"Sure. It's not like you were….an atheist, or some junk," Angelina smiled.**

 **Shirley's feathers drooped. "What a bum Christmas. I am so totally stuck forever with this job, as much as General Snafu. Worse, I'm stuck with you – and we're all under the orders of President Hitcher, who is mondo crazy."**

 **"Well," Calgari said, helpfully. "He's the elected President of a nation of Loony Toons, so of course he reflects that, he represents the average voter, and we all know how smart and well-adjusted they are." He winked. "Isn't democracy wonderful? Anyway – even if he is maybe a little crazy – it's only in the head."**

 **"This is the American Dream, where life meant to be just like a movie," Tlalocopa said. "Si, and we all like slasher films. President Hitcher, he the one with the axe and mask the audience really go to see. Not wimpy expendable hero."**

 **"Look on the bright side!" Angelina said brightly. "We probably live in the best of all possible worlds."**

 _ **That…**_ **Shirley's aura turned a particularly nauseous shade of green** _ **. Is just what we're afraid of.**_

 **(*** Editor's note: Shirley worried about this for the next few days, then came storming in to find the Addams group enjoying their ill-earned rest. "That is so NOT what the song says! *" She snapped, angrily refusing the proffered pickled eyeballs and goujons the corvids were enjoying as festive fare. "It says, _'we'll tell Tchaikovsky the news'_!" Calgari smiled, opened up his T-pad and pointed to proven websites showing his version correct. "In your original time-line, maybe. But, consider – when we brought you back from six months in Los Diablos, did you really get back to EXACTLY the one you were born on? Or did we even get the right version of you? Maybe the real Shirley McLoon is still enjoying the mean streets of San Judas?" As a loon left wide-eyed with her head spinning in shock, the three dark- side Toons high-fived and grinned triumphantly. "Merry Christmas, Calgari," Angelina said, pulling off the cyberspace goggles where she had just hacked the music lyrics section of WickedPedia as well as persuading Wall Street to start opening the fortieth-storey windows and take up free-style base-jumping. [Hacking hardware and software loaned courtesy of _"Computers for Malign Causes_ ", the only charity they all subscribed to.])

(Editor's note to note – Calgari was fibbing about it being a Beatles track but that IS a line, near enough, in the 1983 hit by ELO, "Rock and Roll is King." So there.)

* * *

 **The play and the Sons of Schlesinger being both decisively finished, everyone at the lakeside got ready to go. Alone of the Acme Looniversity crowd, Calamity Coyote had looked unhappy as a dozen radically Doppler-shifted screams faded skywards. The young scientist had his pocket blackboard set up, and was rapidly scribbling calculations with a stick of heavily overclocked chalk. The chalk's cooling fins glowed bright orange in the Winter night** _ **. How did that actually work? Even if gravity lost hold on someone, it should throw them out with only the Earth's centrifugal force – maximum speed, about 400 metres a second at this latitude**_ **, his sign complained** _ **Not a hundred gravities acceleration!**_

 **"Hmm." Marcia looked up, calculating. "But if gravity became anti-gravity to them, not only the Earth's mass would repel them. The Solar System's, the Galaxy's, the Local Galactic Cluster… the combined vector of all that mass pushing outwards…"**

 _ **Would be colossal, yes**_ **, Calamity nodded as he calculated a ballpark figure and watched the Sons of Schlesinger booted out of the gravitational ballpark in a Home Run for the Acme Looniversity team.** _ **As soon as they renounced the Noodly Appendages that were the last thing holding them in place…**_ **A coyote frowned.** _ **But I'm not happy with this. Are we going to keep having bogus Deities showing up and making a mess of Science? That could ruin everything!**_

 **"If it looks stupid and it works, it's not stupid. Or bogus either. And if it gives reproducible results it's Science. Albert EinsToon didn't LIKE what QuanToon physics said when he found it, but he got over it," Marcia said firmly, pulling out a pair of colanders from her Hammerspace pocket. She put one on her head and offered the other to Calamity. "Successfully reproducing that experiment would be a most unfortunate thing for us, were we the test subjects."**

 **Calamity sighed, and clapped the other colander on his head, helmet style. Looking up, all he could see was a fading ion trail in the upper atmosphere; evidently the departing group were now moving fast enough to strike X-rays from the near vacuum.**

 **"Fear not for the fate of Toon Science, my dear ex-pupils," came a deep, cultured voice from behind them. They turned to see their ex-teacher and mentor, Professor Wile-E Coyote. "This may well be proof of hidden Toon law more fundamental than any – one at the very frontiers of knowledge."**

 _ **Sir? Deities are showing up and breaking all the laws of physics!**_ **Calamity protested** _ **. That's a disaster!**_

 **The senior coyote nodded magisterially. "But not at the level of the Fun-damental humour Laws. Those Sons of Schlesinger were about to ban all teaching of Theories. Including that of Gravity. Calculate certain catastrophically comic cosmic consequences, chér Calamity."**

 **Calamity and Marcia thought hard. They recalled the sad tale of the local School Board that had banned teaching traditional European history as irrelevant to local modern life, ignorant of the deep-seated law '** _ **those who refuse to learn from the lessons of History are doomed to repeat them**_ **'. They had been overrun by invading Romans, Vikings and Genghis Khan's Mongol hordes with fire and sword, then personally experienced the medieval Black Death and the Great Plague of London in precise historical detail, exact to the most trivial touch. Looking up at the distant accelerating specks, Calamity realised that Physics and not just History liked to have the last word.**

" **He denied the theory of Gravity as modern Science knows it. And he lost its protection, became vulnerable to… alternative memes, which he then rejected as well," Marcia said, thoughtfully. "Is there an actual Toon law called '** _ **they were just asking for it!**_ **'?"**

 **"Much speculated upon, but as yet unproven. That may be an excellent subject for postgraduate work," Professor Coyote said thoughtfully. "Doctorate or PhD level, certainly. Should you wish to apply for a further research grant, I shall support it."**

" _ **And they shall deny the ones who hold them down! And they will rise forever and ever!"**_ **Cassandra Bloode pronounced smugly, turning to her classmates. "I told you so."**

 _ **A dangerous place, this surface world,**_ **Shelley's telepathic broadcast rang out.** _ **It was risky enough when I fell off the top of the ocean. This is worse.**_

 **Mortimer smiled, looking at his gastropod girlfriend. "I'm glad you made the trip, though."**

 **Shelley's eye-stalk dipped slightly** _ **. So am I. Though I'm not sure about my part in that play. Me, being assembled from food scraps?**_

 **Mortimer blushed. "Sorry. Best way I could think of getting a ton of protoplasm to a cash-strapped scientist."**

" **At least she won't say '** _ **hey, what am I, chopped liver?'**_ **" Henry Smith murmured. "Seafood scrapple, maybe."**

 **There came the telepathic equivalent to a sniff.** _ **Back home, my people believe we're made in the Universal Creator's image. She's the ultimate mollusc. Her eyestalks see all, and her stinging tentacle irresistible.**_

 **"Well, I didn't like it," Marie-Sioux frowned. "The original ending was much better. And isn't it awful, what happened to the Looniversity's studio superiors?"**

 **Lucretia grinned up nastily. "Oh, I don't know. I've heard of leaders voting themselves a raise. Our Studio heads just got themselves the biggest raise ever... and they're still going. Talk about executive high-flyers!"**

 **"And another thing," Gibson Goat noted. "The play was called Frankenstein's Monster Mollusc. But there was no Frankenstein reference in it anywhere."**

 **"That was all explained in the original ending. It got lost when I edited it in a hurry – can't think of everything," Mortimer said, waving the hastily scribbled revisions.**

 **Granville Laverne scratched his head, recalling one of his lines. "This 'N-space' the FSM lives in. I meant to ask – what's that short for?"**

 **"Noodle," Mortimer admitted. "I was in a rush, you know."**

 **Lucretia snickered, pointing vaguely upwards. "Not as much as** _ **they**_ **are."**

 **"Oh." For a second Granville's clockwork and spring steampunk accelerometer registered a surge as if a gravity wave from deepest space had swept by – or just possibly, as if the entire cast was benevolently pressed down by the touch of something unseen.**

* * *

" **A fine show!" Buster applauded as everyone rose for the new official State anthem, '** _ **California Uber Alles.**_ **' "A great start for Mortimer. As a Director, he's pretty direct. That's a play with real heart."**

 **"Heart, liver, spleen and gall bladder too!" Babs agreed. "So educational. And the whole family got to see it."**

" **That's quite a crowd," Buster nodded appreciatively. "Then – your family is a couple of football teams' worth on its own. Plus friends and relations."**

" **And a few who are having friendly relations," Babs cast a knowing glance at Henri D'Aromar, the 'skunk-hunk' who was escorting her third-eldest sister Bonnie Bunny. Bonnie's engagement ring sparkled in the streetlights, as did the virtual daggers Katy and Jenny were looking at her.**

 **The party grabbed coats and ear-muffs, waved to the cast and headed back through the snows, most of them headed towards the warm carrot-scented haven of the Bunny family burrow. Sleeping cubs were checked on; the thick-walled crèche had been looked after by various rabbit cousins who had not fancied playing snowshoe hare a mile each way to the lake, for the sake of a play.**

" **Tres interesting," Fifi commented, as she watched Babs change her son's diaper. "'Your son eez ze only petit rabbit 'ere with ze belly-button."**

 **Babs raised her blouse slightly to show the unbroken white fur at her midriff. "I haven't got one either – none of my sibs have. Mother always went the stork route. With this many siblings, it's just as well. Our little Blitz here – arrived the hard way."**

" **Ah. I know zat way, eet got us our Victor L. Lafume (*)" Fifi said ruefully. She smiled down at her sleeping son and daughter. "Mon Ruby 'ad petite Gigi brought 'er by ze stork."**

(* Editir's note: Fifi's black-and white furred son's full name was Victor Ludorum Lafume. Unlike Calamity Coyote's ill-advised parents, Rhubella and Fifi wanted to give their firstborn a sporting chance.)

" **That time I did," Rhubella said, hugging her skunkette wife. "Maybe next time it'll be the other way round. And… with any luck, next time might be starting soon. We've got some friendly company staying with us, till the airport opens." She gave a happy sigh. "If it keeps snowing and there's no outbound flights for a week, this time I won't complain." If this was the last 'skunk-hunk' to show up before an outraged shtick vanished forever, Rhubella and Fifi had every intention of making the most of him.**

 **Babs grinned, recalling the scent of healthy adult male skunk she had noted in the burrow annexe before the play. "You'll have a captive audience! And I'm sure the guest you're entertaining will be… entertaining."**

 **Fifi kissed her wife's nose. "Maybe zis time mon Ruby will 'ave ze bump, and lucky Fifi ze stork feather. Zo much lighter for moi to carry, certainment!"**

" **Mmm. Thinking of girls who might end up getting each other a stork feather, what did you think of Clara?" Rhubella asked, looking at the couple tagging along at the back of the Bunny family group, out of earshot.**

 **Fifi smiled. "Skinny, mais… for a Perfecto, your sister she 'as ze excellent taste."**

" **They're generally fussy that way," Buster said. "Their idea of an evening out is generally '** _ **fine whining and dining'**_ **– and not just at Weenie-Burger, where they'd have a real excuse."**

 **Rhubella gave an embarrassed grin. "We don't 'do' praise. Fine whining really is an art form with us. The more you complain, the higher your standards look. Which is good. To another Perfecto, anyway."**

" **Hmm. Variola's got excellent taste, eh? Does it break our ratings if I say, 'I'm not even going to say,** _ **you'd have to ask Clara about that**_ **'?" Babs asked in innocent tones.**

" **Certainment," Fifi said firmly.**

" **Oopsie." Babs gave an embarrassed grin. "So… good thing I didn't really say it."**

" **Tough lady, Clara. A lover AND a fighter, I'd say" Buster commented. "Perfectos just set their lawyers on each other – she's likely to either skunk spray you or just swing and knock your block off."**

" **Or both," Babs agreed** _ **. Variola just might convince the Perfectoids Clara's her bodyguard, could save trouble,**_ **she thought fleetingly, then chuckled.** _ **Looks like Clara's already guarding that girl's body pretty well!**_ **"I'd just love to be the fly on the wall when some sneering Perfectoid calls Clara 'poor white-and-black trash' – their school medic will spend all morning trying to find all the Perfectoid pieces."**

 **They returned to the warmth of the main burrow, where the party was getting ready to start. Babs' ever-ready camera clicked like a Giger Counter on GlowinDark Flats as she recorded the well-timed (and highly dramatic) arrival of a pair of handsome and absolutely identical fox brothers, and her sisters Jenny and Katy's priceless expressions.**

 **Buster accepted a bowl of carrot salad from one of Babs' younger sisters, and cautiously sampled it. The youngest two litters were adventurous chefs, and not averse to experimenting with fresh asafoetida, or 'Carolina Reaper' military-grade chillies in search of a memorable dish. His ears went right up. "Nice! Rare-breed purple carrot livened with those small, bitter salad herbs. It's so hard to get the proportions just right. Quite some calculation needed. But they've done it."**

" **Naturally," Babs smirked. "This family has talent, in all directions. Film stardom OR Rocket Science."**

 **Buster nodded, recognising some of the other guests he rarely saw these days. There was the Boy Bunny Next Door, Duncan Potter, who had set aside his usual 'Don't call me Harry!' T-shirt for the party and donned a sharp-looking tuxedo. Buster smiled, watching as the youngest litter nudged and shoved what was apparently the shyest and cutest of their sisters onto the dance floor with Duncan. "Looks like poor Terry really ended up catching that old Anime meme. Cutest girl in class… isn't one. What a drag for him." (*)**

 **(*** Editor's note: As they had learned in Professor Bugs' Tropes and Memes Masterclass, Terry/Terrie's predicament ticked the boxes of at least three classic memes:

Meme 131 – "If any character is forced for any reason to appear in drag, they will appear FAR more attractive than if they'd tried it deliberately."

Meme 132: "Having done so, they will attract a lot of eager suitors from the (apparently) opposite sex. Especially if it embarrasses them."

Meme 133: "This will cause whoever forced them into it substantial romantic complications. Turnaround in this case IS fair play.")

 **"Quite a crowd!" Babs agreed. "It's a pity Mary's not here, that's all. I invited her, of course. But she's spending Christmas with her family; her parents and Jack's parents. Turns out Mary and Jack, their mothers know each other from way back!" Babs said. Jaggi's parents were far away in Even Bolder, Colorado, where Mary and family were heading to meet them at Easter along with Jaggi DiSpeckle' s sister Denoise. Mary had confided to Babs she wanted Jaggi's zebra stripes on her next foal – unless somehow the plot dictated otherwise.**

 **"Small world," Buster agreed. "Then – back at Acme Loo, they did teach us the Law of Conservation of Characters. Travel to the remotest spot on the map, and you'll probably meet someone you know. For plot reasons. Saves work for the guys in Central Casting, and the Character Design artists, too." He smiled, remembering a first-year trip with Babs to Hawaii where the entire cast 'just happened to be' working in holiday jobs there when they arrived.**

 **"Mmm. That Law gets me thinking of one they taught in our final term, the 'Finish on a Flash-Forward'," Babs mused. "Before you end a long-running series, have a look a few years down the road at how things might carry on – so the fans don't pester you so much for endless sequels, if they've had a look already."**

 **Buster looked at his wife's mischievous expression. "And you were thinking…?"**

 **Babs spin-changed into a now rarely seen form, the fairy Tinker-Bunny, airily waving a golden wand as she pirouetted gracefully in her tutu. "Look, and you shall see!" She declared in simpering tones, a special-effects sprinkling of golden sparks filling the room. "Next summer, Mary Melody, fearless news reporter, goes undercover again working as a cowgirl at a desert rodeo ranch, investigating reports of animal cruelty. Her husbands Jack and Jaggi have taken supporting-cast roles as stable-hands."**

 **"Good casting call. Jaggi's real solid, as stable as they make them; she's always in good stable hands there," Buster commented, pulling a container of fresh popcorn from his Hammerspace pocket and offering it around as the burrow wall suddenly transformed into a 3-D cinema screen. The handsome zebra had accepted a film role as the hero's henchman next year in the forthcoming gritty action thriller '** _ **The Vienna Connection'**_ **, not the style of movie the Looniversity generally trained its graduates for. A special gravel pit outside Vienna had been required to supply the necessary quantity of grit.**

 **"And nevair mind what 'Ollywood says, many of ze real Nineteenth Century cowboys were Afro-Americans," Fifi said. "Not only ze 'buffalo soldiers', ozair species aussi."**

 **"Not just the cowboys, the whole Ninth and Tenth Cavalry were Afro-Americans, every single trooper of them," Buster confirmed.**

 **"The single ones AND the married ones too!" Babs put in brightly. "But you never saw Hollywood calling on them to heroically save the day, in the classic cowboy films."**

" **Zo unfair," Fifi nodded. "Maybe some of Mary's ancestors rode with zem, why not?" Her voice faded as the scene swam fully into view.**

 _ **The backdrop was a modern Dude Ranch seen about half a mile from the camera, with covered stadium seating shading any paying customers from the blazing sun as they would sit and cheer rodeo clowns getting trampled and cowpokes getting their construction lines kicked loose. There was a distant crash, and a grizzled cowboy came up through the roof of the stand, a minute in free ballistic flight before impacting the desert sands, a pair of hoofmarks stamped conspicuously on his backside. He rose out of the crater, grumbling "Ah quits!" and swaggered off in the direction of the sunset.**_

 _ **Inside the rodeo, an eighteen-hands-high jet-black bronco was being more-or-less held by half a dozen sweating cowpokes on restraining ropes. The horse snorted, pawing the ground, special-effects flames in his nostrils. An older, fatter and more elaborately dressed cowboy was standing looking on in disgust, fingers tapping the butts of a pair of mother-or-pearl inlaid revolvers at his belt. "Well, boys, looks like there's nobody as can ride ol' Hacksaw after all. That's five of my best hands still stuck in high polar orbits, and you just bet ah'm docking their wages till they gets back. Looks like it's off to France and the gourmet steakhouse for that no-count Roughneck."**_

 _ **Just then there was a quiet cough behind him. He turned, to see Mary Melody dressed in a classic, practical Western outfit – fringed buckskin jacket over a linen shirt, and long fringed leather chaps over non-designer denim cut-off shorts. Unlike the rest of the cowboys, her boots had no spurs. "May I try?"**_

 _ **The ranch owner's eyes narrowed for a second as he looked over the City Slicker who had been making such a fuss over the traditional role of cattle prods and Foulplay ™ genuine Rhino-hide whips on his extra-traditional ranch. Then a wicked smile came to his face, and he laughed. "Why sure, lil' lady! Tell you what – you stay on Roughneck's back one minute and – he's yours to keep."**_

 _ **"Thank you." Mary smiled. She looked around. "No saddle?"**_

 _ **One of the cowpokes scratched his head, a little embarrassed. "Nobody ever got close enough to 'zactly measure him for one, Ma'am." Unlike the normally placid cows, this horse when prodded, poked back.**_

 _ **Mary nodded quietly. At her gesture the other cowpokes let slip the ropes and scrambled to safety over the high timber walls of the arena. Mary vaulted over in the other direction, standing alone in the arena with a large and very unbroken bronco. Entirely so, and obviously what someone into Horsiculture would class as an 'Entire', indeed.**_

 _ **Roughneck noticed at first only a target figure in the hated Western costume. He reared, snorted and charged full speed, ready to trample the intruder flat or kick them clear into the next state – then suddenly screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust and confusion. His nose was telling him this was someone he wanted to impress.**_

 _ **The scene: Mary standing in the arena, looking up at the ebony bronco's muzzle, six inches from her face. "Boo," she said lightly, blowing her scent into the flaring nostrils. Roughneck shivered, his upper lip rolling back in the distinctive equine grin. She smiled, stroking his muzzle gently. "Pleased to meet you, sir." With that, she grasped a handful of mane and lightly sprang up to his back, guiding the now sweating and prancing horse around the ring bareback for two minutes.**_

 _ **The boss frowned as Mary slid down off the bronco. He opened the arena door and swaggered in. "Wall, if'n I'd a known it was going to be THAT easy… I can do that mah self, if'n I..."**_

 _ **He did not get the chance to complete the sentence. There was a special-effects sound as of a football being kicked, but hugely magnified, and a figure soared into the air heading for the stratosphere and the distant state boundary, leaving a thin trail of smoke from air-friction scorched denim.**_

 _ **Mary shook her head, patting Roughneck's flank and leading him out of the arena amongst a dozen jaw-dropped ranch hands. "All done with kindness," the humanmare said, Roughneck trotting willingly at her heels...**_

 **Suddenly the scene dissolved, as an infuriated Fifi slapped Tinker-Bunny around the muzzle with a large wet fish. Many folk had wanted to do that to Tinker-Bunny for years. "Babs! Remebair what 'appened when Margot she 'ad 'ze 'ideas' for Mary! It came true! Mary, she ees… prone to ze Narrative changes of Fate." Many Toons suffered from similar conditions such as Nominative Determinism where their names affected their fates – as Calamity Coyote could ruefully confirm. Just what their (presumably) loving parents had been thinking to give them such ill-fated names, was a source of unending wonder and many amusingly dysfunctional families. Jerry Springer had run several high-impact episodes feasting on the fallout.**

 **"Where did she get the fresh fish from?" Clara asked, blinking. "I could use that skill." She looked on a little hungrily as Fifi returned the slightly battered fish to her Hammerspace pocket. It would keep fresh; Hammerspace had tightly coiled spatial but no temporal dimensions, so elapsed time stopped in there as it did for an unused spin-change form.**

 **Buster shrugged, and grinned. "It's a Toon Thing."**

 **"And so is saying that," Rhubella pointed out. "Recursive, or what?"**

 **Babs spin-changed into a drier and less fish-scented form. "Hey! It was a perfectly innocent flash-forward. And Roughneck? Maybe Mary can ride him out into the sunset and set him loose, to roam forever free on the wild ranges. That'd make a good end-of-film scene, and completely PG-rated. Nothing that Disney wouldn't do."**

" **Disney; zey do not 'ave ze 'umanmare characters," Fifi said meaningfully. "'Oo 'ave ze equine 'usbands and ze foal already."**

 **"Well, excuuuuuse me," Babs sniffed, her adorable nose twitching upwards haughtily. "Honestly! What did you all think I was going to have them do?"**

 **From somewhere there was a sound as of streets' worth of plate-glass storefronts shattering simultaneously. Babs recalled that time Calamity had pulled the '** _ **I wonder what THIS button does?'**_ **gag and his new ACME convertible car accidentally fired two gigawatts worth of interstellar overdrive, surprisingly converting into an undocumented starship mode in the middle of downtown traffic. The button was now labelled 'In-Car Entertainment'; just as a previous generation of loudspeakers had been called 'ghetto blasters', this could take out not just the ghetto but most of mid-town.**

 **"So THAT'S what an 'R' rating sounds like when it breaks," Variola mused. "And it can read Toon minds, too. The things I learn, hanging out with you Acme Loo grads."**

 **"** _ **Honi sot qui mal y pense**_ **," Babs quoted quaintly. "Meaning '** _ **Evil to those who think evil'**_ **, not that Honey Bunny's a sot and drinks too much." She paused. "Though I did hear about that staff party when she downed a whole bottle of green chartreuse. Went around looking green for days…"**

 **"Even so… you might want to finish on a better note," Buster suggested. "Something that won't ruin our rating forever and ever, amen." He could feel Dramatic Tension building up after Babs' invocation of that potential future; if it was not quickly used on something else Mary's home life was liable to get even more complex than it already was. "Mary gets enough jokes already about her being a humanmare in a 'stable' relationship."**

 **"Hmm." Babs thought hard, then smiled. "How about, instead… far out on the old GlowinDark Flats testing range, a certain greedy human Toon is laughing maniacally as he digs at the spot marked X on the old treasure map he found in your locker. And stole. Not knowing you'd planted it there just so he'd do exactly that."**

" **We could star that guy from class who was a pain in the tail for five years. What was he called? Nebraska Norbert, something lame like that," Buster mused. "He always wanted to be the star."**

" _ **We are stardust…"**_ **Babs sang, quoting the old hippie-era track. "And hey! He can be stardust too." She said brightly. "Well, something involving nuclear fusion debris."**

" **I can see ze gaping Plot 'ole 'ere, Bustair. We are not in class with 'im any more," Fifi pointed out. "Why would 'e wait till now for zis? Two years ago, pas de problem."**

 **Buster paused, considering. "Maybe he can use that Plot Hole to hide the excavated earth from the secret tunnel he's digging."**

 **His pink-furred wife nodded, her eyes going dreamy. "He THINKS he's stolen an 1850's map to a lost gold mine. But it's really a 1950's test range guide. Shot Hole Nineteen, the last in the Project Sun-Ray underground high-energy gag test Series; folk tried to remotely trigger it in 1959 but it never went off."**

" **And like they always say, kids – if a lit firework doesn't go off, never go back to it. Way too dangerous," Buster advised, recalling the High-Energy Gag testing range and its many hazards, which Professor Sam had often demonstrated very personally. "So they just filled the hole in and walked away whistling nonchalantly… I mean, sure it'd be safe forever down there, who'd be stupid enough to tunnel down a hundred feet to hit the nose fuze with a pickaxe, laughing '** _ **gold, gold! Mine, mine, mine!'**_ **?" His eyebrows wiggled in Groucho Marx homage. "Who'd do a thing like that?"**

" **What a shame he cheapskated and got an ACME metal detector," Babs added, building on the scene. "Sure, it's registering a mass of something with a really high atomic number. But the bargain-bucket models can't tell gold from pluToonium. It says he's hot on the trail – and he's about to get a lot hotter."**

" **I scent Karma," Clara observed. Skunks had a surprisingly good sense of smell, merely having a 'blind spot' that filtered out their own aroma. "But how will we know if it works?"**

" **We'll know." Buster winked. "Back outside, anyone who wants to see the show!" Clara and Variola followed him and Babs up to the burrow entrance. "Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord – and what's-his-face, Illinois Igor, stole the plan to the mine. We'll see how that works out for him."**

" **Some kinds of mine you dig – others you step on," Babs agreed. "And it couldn't happen to a more deserving Toon than… wimpy Wyoming Wally, whatever."**

" **Will the crooked gold miner hit pay dirt? Or payback?" Buster mused. "Watch this space for details."**

 **Babs waited the appropriate number of comedy beats; an Acme Looniversity graduate needed to demonstrate perfect timing. "Just about… now." She pointed eastwards.**

 **They all turned to watch appreciatively as the distant mountainsides briefly lit up with brilliant white light from somewhere far over the horizon, as the much-cratered GlowinDark Flats added to its traditions. The Toons applauded, feeling the Dramatic Tension explosively released (and quite harmlessly, at least for anyone who mattered).**

 **Clara frowned, and scratched her head-fur. "How do you Acme graduates do that? Write a script and have it just happen?"**

 **The bunnies merely shrugged. It was '** _ **a Toon Thing ™.'**_

" **And wasn't it a bit – gratuitous?" Clara asked. "Surely he can't be all bad, whoever he is."**

" **Is? Was." Babs grinned.**

" **Well, I suppose what's-his-face did run a charity, once," Buster reminisced. "Sure, it was for tax reasons – collecting tainted meat and blown tins for the deserving poor." He paused. "To his view of 'deserving.'"**

 **Babs gave a mock sigh. "And he always complained our stories didn't give him his rightful place in the sun." She paused. "He got it now! Courtesy of Project Sun-ray!"**

" **A place in the sun? Close enough, temperature-wise," Buster nodded. "Maybe not for very long – but it's years since they used to say everyone gets their fifteen minutes of fame. Not any more. So many more people these days, less screen time."**

" **How does that work?" Clara asked, scratching her head.**

" **And isn't it a lot of plot work to get someone, miles offstage who most of us haven't even met?" Variola asked curiously. At Perfecto they studied the Laws of Conservation of Financial Energy; a Perfecto student would never do anything so elaborately sneaky or underhanded – unless, of course, it in some way profited or amused them. Or for practice, of course.**

" **No." Babs and Buster chorused, holding paws as the light in the East faded. A minute later a distant boom swept past with a hot wind, turning the scene with its snow laden trees briefly into a shaken-up snow globe. Babs sighed happily, looking Eastwards at a richly deserved denouement. "But anyway… I know I've said it before. But really, really – I just can't help myself."**

* * *

 **Not a mile away, Margot and Plucky were watching the light show too. It seemed that Christmas Eve was joining New Year as a suitable occasion to light up the skies. Margot made a mental note to check the share prices of firework companies. "Christmas eve," she said, reflectively. "Tomorrow's a big day. Their first Christmas for our dauntless Douglas, Millie and Molly." The three would be having new sisters and possibly brothers in the coming year, she reflected – it would be interesting to see who they resembled. Medical chromoplasm tests were not something one big, happy family needed to complicate matters with.**

" **Sure! And rather than going to a fake Santa Clause in some store, I can change into a genuine super-hero to hand out their presents," Plucky enthused. "Bat-duck, maybe."**

 **Margot's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Or even your film-star Captain W, the one with the amazing wombat-like powers," she suggested. "Then later we can have a private command performance, just you and me. You can show me some of his… wholly authentic marsupial traits they didn't show at the cinema." She winked. "I've heard a few things about marsupial males. Some… fascinating possibilities."**

" **Heh" A green-feathered mallard blushed red; an interesting sight. "Say, Margot ? I've got this funny feeling… It's like we're being watched. You know, back at Looniversity, the big thing was, everybody ended each show on a punchline." Plucky looked around nervously; many of his had been knock-out punch lines delivered by falling anvils or pianos, but the clear December skies seemed clear of any downward-slanting re-entry trails for the moment.**

 **Margot also looked around, but there was nobody to be seen. Pulling out her bug detector, she swept the area for any listening microphones; it was a Perfecto issue model so sensitive that it scanned for everything in a mile; in the woodlands the only bugs it detected were some slumbering cicadas burrowed underground beneath the snow and leaf mould. "Mmm? You think we should do one? I've not had your training, but I'm sure I'll manage." Margot relaxed, pressed companionably against her drake. She noticed him staring off to one side, and laughed. "Oh. I remember. You Looniversity types are 'fourth wall believers'. Is there some particular sacred direction we should be facing?"**

" **This way." Plucky turned them both to face a notional camera. He cleared his throat. "Say – now you've scammed half the planet's pocket change with that Phobos bank scheme – what are you going to do next year? How do you beat that?"**

 **Margot smiled, taking a deep breath. "Well, dear Plucky. Mars has two moons, you know. We just didn't mention Mary is Queen of both." She winked and paused, waiting for the crucial comedy beat. "Just wait till folk find out what we're going to do on Deimos!"**

 **The End**

 **(Unless someday we just happen to come across a little secret file leaked from Colonel Fenix's archives, a co-operative mission with the Japanese Pre-emptive Self-Defence Force provisionally titled "There's No drama like Noh Drama.")**

* * *

 **(Danger! Blooper reel ahead!)**

 **Far away on a Cuteness-blasted suburban battlefield, the Very Metal band Def Mettle Foundry (led by lead singer Frank Sikosis) paused with their task of replacing the reactive runic armour panels expended a desperate street-fight. Some of the streets had been desperate indeed; the high-dourness steel bulk of their vehicle still glowed pink in places where the optically focussed K-blasts had hit. One particularly pink dent on the turret showed where they had barely escaped Fluff Assimilation by seconds, saved only by turning the turret at the last instant to take its impact on the sole frontal Aleph class rune.**

 **Frank felt the gaze of an unseen camera and called over to Drogo De Vere, the neo-hippy loon busy casting warding spells on the glacis plate. Both of them looked annoyed as they noticed no sound coming from their mouths; the sound-track had been replaced by rolling credits. He frowned, and beckoned the crew of the GRAVVS METALLICVS into camera shot to pose while he rapidly scribbled on the side of an empty ammunition crate. Holding it up, the message read; WHAT, THEY MISSED US OUT OF THIS EPISODE?**

 **Drogo nodded, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he wrote a reply. Just before the picture faded and the commercials came on, he held it up in camera shot; LOOKS LIKE IT JUST WASN'T OUR SORT OF PLOT. He shrugged. THERE'S ALWAYS NEXT TIME.**


End file.
